Silent Hill: 302
by Feriku
Summary: A supernatural force has trapped him inside Room 302. The door won't open, no one can hear him shout, and the telephone is broken-there is no escape. His only hope is to cross through a mysterious hole he finds in his bathroom, leading him to a dangerous world where nothing quite makes sense and every answer brings only more questions.
1. Chapter 1: Fallen

_It was two years ago  
__that Henry Townshend moved into  
__Room 302 of South Ashfield Heights,  
__an apartment building in the medium-sized city of Ashfield.  
__Henry was happy and enjoying  
__his new life._

_But five days ago, something  
__strange happened.  
__He began to have a recurring dream  
__each night.  
__One other thing…  
__He couldn't leave Room 302…_

**Silent Hill: 302**

Chapter 1: Fallen

I woke up from one nightmare into another.

The worst part was knowing that this one would never end.

I opened my eyes slowly, almost mechanically. I knew what I had to face, and although I dreaded it, I still had one last sliver of hope that I was wrong.

The room around me was dark and cold. Light came dimly from the lamps still, but it was a reddish glow that accentuated the blood-like stains that covered everything. The air was heavy, and either a haze was in the air or my own vision was blurry. These days, I couldn't be sure.

I reached out and touched the wall, half-expecting my hand to come away wet with blood. It did not, however; the wall was as dry as that of a normal apartment, and as cold as I felt inside.

How long had it been since I had touched another person? How long had it been since I had _spoken_ to another person?

No, no, it hadn't been that long ago at all. I looked around at the room and nodded to myself. Yes, I had spoken to people just recently…but they had been victims. Did that count? They had been here with me, cut off from the outside world.

And now, it was just me.

_I am entirely alone._

No, I wasn't alone. It would have been better if I was. Somewhere, _he_ was here as well, watching me with those too-familiar eyes of his, and probably passing judgment in his own calm way.

Was he here right now? I let my gaze dart around the room, feeling inexplicably paranoid. It wasn't that I was afraid, exactly—no, not at all. Whenever I saw him, though, I felt doubt and despair begin to creep into my mind, telling me that perhaps I had lost after all. Our last confrontation hadn't gone well, for reasons I was reluctant to think about.

In fact, the entire apartment was starting to fill me with despair.

_I've failed, with no way out, no chance of salvation, no hope remaining…_

"No!" I growled out loud, leaving my resting place to look elsewhere. This couldn't be…

I glanced down and noticed in the eerie light that the state of my own clothing wasn't far above that of the room. I grimaced. That was fitting, I supposed.

I looked at the lamp and wondered if there was any way to get it to shine a little more brightly. Maybe these walls could just be cleaned.

_If I lit some Holy Candles, would they drive this darkness away?_

I shivered, suddenly wondering when it had gotten this bad. It was impossible to tell that this apartment had once been bright, clean, and warm. These bloody hues were its permanent colors now. The walls were marred from _things_ forcing their way in, the windows were so opaque as to suggest there no longer even was any world other than this one, and the room felt about as welcoming as a prison.

Had it been a gradual change? Is that why I hadn't noticed before? Had it come on suddenly, driven by powers beyond even my understanding of this place? Or was it me—had I grown so accustomed to the things I saw that even this hadn't fazed me before?

I had the sudden conviction that this was a terrible, evil place.

_But this is my…_

"No!" I shouted again. This was only a nightmare. I had enough of them, after all. I would wake up soon. After all, none of those horrors could truly come here. Room 302 was sanctuary. This…

This could not be reality.

I began to run again. I had to get out of here. It didn't matter where I went, so long as I got out of this room.

I laughed weakly when I saw the space where the front door used to be. It was barely visible now, just a faint outline in the reddish wall. That certainly wasn't going to help me escape, but fortunately, I knew another way out.

The bathroom door wouldn't budge. After all of my attempts to force it open failed, I stared at it in dismay. Had I done that? Could I have been so disoriented as to actually lock myself in? Next I went to the laundry room, and I met with similar failure.

In a sudden panic brought on by my feelings of despair and claustrophobia, I raced around the apartment wildly. There had to be something; there always was something. I threw aside papers, magazines, an article on the Wish House…finally my gaze landed upon the storage box in the living room.

_Holy Candles._

I had to try. Even though I wasn't sure what I was afraid of, or what I thought those little candles could possible do, I dove for the box. It was locked tight, giving no indication that I could force it open any more than the doors.

I laughed hysterically and resumed my mad search of the apartment. There was a painting that seemed unusual, and when I took a closer look at it, I realized that it showed twenty-one people.

_Twenty-one people…_

One of them was me. I stared at my own face for a minute, and then I shuddered and turned away. And I had once thought I could be a hero. Once, long ago…those naïve dreamed seemed so far away from this oppressive room.

I shuddered again, because I knew that my thoughts were getting close to those fears that I had yet to fully admit to myself. Offering a silent prayer, although to what, I did not know, I continued on in the hope that I would find something that would tell me that all hope was not yet lost.

A framed photograph caught my eye, and I picked it up. It was untouched enough that I could make out the features of the person in it—a serious-looking man, with short brown hair—but to my alarm, I couldn't quite focus in on who he was.

The past few days were a traumatic blur in my mind, and that photograph was enough to convince me that the last vestiges of my sanity were quickly unraveling. I had to get out of here, even if there was nowhere to go. Maybe then, away from this room—I bit back a sob that seemed to come out of nowhere—I could think more clearly, and piece myself back together. Even the gruesome familiarity of the Otherworlds might be a comfort now.

Yet I had no way of leaving. Refusing to give up, I ran to my last hope—the windows—and began to hit them with the picture frame in my hand. Surely they would break…surely there was something on the other side left to see… There had to be something here beyond just me and this room.

All at once, as if summoned by my growing panic, he was there. I could feel him watching me, as I continued my futile assault on the windows. I stopped, but I didn't turn around. I couldn't. I was afraid of what I might see, and what I might realize.

"Come to witness my fall?" I asked, more calmly than I felt. "There's no hope left for me, is there? What do you expect me to say? That you were right? That I've lost? That everything I did was for nothing, and all of my hopes and dreams were destroyed by the Order?"

The silence that greeted my rambling was more unnerving than anything he might have responded with. "Say _something!_" I shouted, whirling around angrily.

Our eyes met, for just a moment, and then a fierce pain lanced through my brain. I cried out, gripping my head. The pain was intense, and with it I could feel something else…a second consciousness intruding on my own.

_No!_

I grimaced and tried to fight what was happening, but images began to bombard me until I was overwhelmed. A cross in the darkness, rising up before me…the Wish House, bleak and terrible…the door of this same apartment, Room 302… On and on they came, until emotions began to sweep through me as well. Loneliness, and terror, and torment so deep—they engulfed my mind until I was no longer sure where my own feelings began and his ended.

I saw bodies, bloody and broken, devastated beyond repair… I found myself questioning my own identity; for a moment I felt a jumble of conflicting perspectives, and with that confusion came a rush of pain and blood…and _death._

The full reality of my situation suddenly crashed down on me like an anvil, and the despairing scream that had been gradually building up in the back of my throat burst free.

I found myself running back to that painting I had noticed earlier. Twenty-one people. I looked at their faces, and then I looked down at the photograph I still held. In a burst of lucidity—rare these days—I connected a name to him at last.

_Henry Townshend, the Receiver of Wisdom._

"The hero of this tragic tale?" I asked despairingly.

I looked at the photograph, and then I looked at the painting, and I looked at the other faces and then for a moment at the wall of the apartment, and I thought about Miss Eileen Galvin, the Mother Reborn, and then I looked back at the painting.

"This cannot be!" I cried out loud, searching for the hope that had remained in me when I had awoken just a short time ago.

But something had happened, and I could no longer continue lying to myself.

I shuddered and gripped my head, but before I could do anything more, a chill swept through the air. They were coming.

The wall cracked and shivered as the ghost forced his head through into the room. He stared at me with a ghoulish, hate-filled gaze, and I took a step away from Jimmy Stone, the first victim.

A sound caught my ear, and I turned my head to see another one coming, even as he climbed out of the wall. And there, on the other wall—from there, too, they were coming.

The photograph fell from my grip as the ghostly legions advanced upon me. They came closer and closer, and I had one fleeting, bitter regret that I could not have been the hero, before darkness swept over me and I fell to the floor.

* * *

_Author's note: Well, Happy Walter Sullivan Day, everyone! I thought it was fitting to honor this occasion by choosing this day to release the first part of my new story. Now, I know some of you are probably thinking, "Really, Feriku? This story you've been working on for so long is just a novelization of Silent Hill 4: The Room?" To that, all I can say is...wait and see, wait and see... ;)_


	2. Chapter 2: Cynthia

"_When the sky is turning black, you fear the dawn.  
Your inner voice compels you, but you're all alone.  
Thy secret sense lies still obscure within your shattered dreams,  
And all you can do is scream."  
_—Hammerfall, _The Unforgiving Blade_

Chapter 2: Cynthia

I came awake with a start, and for a moment, I was completely disoriented.

"Oh man, what a dream," I groaned, gripping my head when I finally got my bearings. My heart was still pounding, but at least I knew where I was. I was in the dubious safety of Room 302, my apartment. And despite the sense of mixed identities that had filled me during the nightmare, I knew I was Henry Townshend.

Being awake wasn't much better than being caught in that nightmare. The apartment still looked the way it always had and I hadn't seen any ghosts, but things were far from being normal. My world had shrunk to consist of only this apartment. I was trapped.

I could look out the windows, but the locks wouldn't budge and no amount of beating on them would get them to open. One day I had gathered a stack of books from the shelf in the bedroom, convincing myself it was just my methods that caused failure, but even throwing projectile after projectile wouldn't shatter the glass. The door was just as bad. I couldn't get it to open no matter what I did, and no one could hear me screaming through it, even though I could see and hear them through the peephole. I had even discovered a tiny hole in the wall looking into my neighbor's apartment, but the young woman who lived there never reacted to my shouts, and all my efforts to widen the hole had failed.

What chilled me was that the hole hadn't gotten there on its own. Beside it I had found a pistol, along with a desperately carved message:

_The faint hope I had is slowing changing to despair. I've somehow managed to tunnel this far, but no matter what I do, I can't get any further. The hallway, the windows, the walls… It feels like this room is stuck in another dimension. Eileen never noticed…_

At times I hoped that the fact this had happened to someone else meant that he had somehow escaped, and that I could, too. At other times I was convinced I would find his body in the apartment, because there was no escape. I had put the pistol in a desk drawer, not feeling comfortable keeping it with me. At times I wondered if that was really a good idea.

Sooner or later I would starve to death, if something worse didn't happen first.

I thought about the nightmares and shuddered. Desperate to try again, I got up and grabbed the phone on the nightstand. My mind went blank.

_Call someone._

It had never worked in the past, and I didn't see why trying it again would help. When everything had started and I realized I couldn't call for help, I had investigated the phone thoroughly. The phone cord was cut, and I didn't know how to fix it. Using it like this wouldn't work. Besides, I couldn't remember any phone numbers. Who could I call?

_Just call anyone, Henry!_

There was a good chance that whoever I called would think I was insane when I told them I was trapped in my apartment. If they could just hear me, however, that would be a step in the right direction. It would help if I could remember someone _to_ call. This was troubling. The last thing I needed was amnesia. If the room was affecting my mind, I really needed to get out.

Finally, a number surfaced from the depths of my memory. I couldn't put a name with it, but I didn't care. Punching it in hurriedly, I waited. Nothing happened. Just as before, the phone was useless.

I sighed and hung up. It had been worth a try. Now I could return to my daily routine of beating on doors and windows and trying to figure out why even the television didn't work. As I was walking away, the phone rang.

I froze in disbelief and turned to look at it. The cord was cut, the phone hadn't worked for days—and it was ringing. For a moment, I thought my imprisonment had finally gotten to me and I was hallucinating. Then the phone continued to ring, and I snatched it up. "Hello?" I asked uncertainly.

"Help…me…" a woman pleaded on the other end, but a horrible discordance of static cut off anything else she might have said, and the phone went dead.

Lifting up the cord, just in case I had imagined that part, I saw that it really was still cut. I stared at the silent receiver and then hung up the phone. For a few seconds, I had actually been in contact with another human being. Whoever she was, she needed help. I wished I could help her. I couldn't even help myself.

Leaving the bedroom behind, I walked out into the living room and looked at my door. The door was the most unnerving part of this entire ordeal. It wasn't just stuck fast like the windows. Rather, it had been locked with chains that crisscrossed in front of the door as if to emphasize how trapped I was. I hadn't been able to break the chains or the locks on them, but what bothered me the most was that the chains were on the inside of the apartment. Whenever I looked at it, I couldn't help but think that whoever had put those chains on the door had to have been in the apartment with me.

But I was the only one here. I had searched and found no one. Still, when I looked at those chains…

Staring at it again, thinking about everything that had happened to me, I wondered if it would get worse and worse until it was just like my nightmares. Were those dreams premonitions? As I worried about the future, something began happening to the door. In between the chains, something was appearing—letters the color of blood. It was a message…

_Don't go out!  
__Walter_

I gaped at the letters in disbelief. Even with everything that had happened, that was creepy. "What's going on here?" I muttered, reading the warning again. Who was Walter? Was he the one who had chained me in here? Something about the name tugged at my mind, but I couldn't figure out why. Well, whoever he was, he could be assured that I would not be going out.

A smashing sound from the hallway outside caught my attention, and I bent my head to look through the peephole. Even if they couldn't hear me, it was comforting to see and hear other people. My neighbor was out there, apparently picking up something that she had dropped. She was talking to herself about a party, but my attention was fixed on the wall behind her.

Rows of bloody handprints stained the white surface. I stared as she walked on past as if she couldn't even see them. _Maybe she can't._ I shivered, liking this less and less. My door chained from the inside, messages appearing all on their own, bloody handprints that only I could see—what was going on?

Dismayed, I stepped away from the door. Something caught my eye, and I looked down. A scrap of paper was sticking underneath the door. My heart leapt. Maybe someone had realized something had happened to me and was trying to communicate. I crouched, picked up the piece of paper, and read it.

_Mom, why doesn't u Wake up?_

That had not been what I was hoping to see. A chill ran down my spine as I looked at the childish scrawl and the strange message. There was no reasonable explanation as for why this message would have been given to me. It could have been a weird coincidence, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow connected to all the other weird events.

Though a part of me wanted to throw it away, I finally decided to put it in my scrapbook. Maybe everything would make sense when I reviewed all the information. _Unlikely._ Still, I did it anyway, and once I was done, I began my usual tour of the apartment—trying to break windows, checking that no ghosts were coming through the walls, and all the other things that kept me sane these days.

While inspecting, I noticed something I had never seen before. There was a piece of yellowed paper poking out from behind the bookcase in the living room. These tours served a purpose after all. Triumphant, I pulled it out and unfolded it, hoping that it would prove more useful than the last one. Parts of it were too damaged to read, but I read as much as I could.

_Through the Ritual of the Holy Assumption, he built a world.  
__It exists in a space separate from the world of our Lord.  
__More accurately, it is within, yet without the Lord's world.  
__Unlike the world of our Lord, it is a world in extreme flux.  
__Unexpected doors or walls, moving floors, odd creatures, a world only he can  
__control...  
__Anyone swallowed up by that world will live there for eternity, undying.  
__They will haunt that realm as a spirit.  
__How can our Lord forgive such an abomination...?_

Even as I walked to put the page in my scrapbook with the other one, it occurred to me that maybe it would be best for my sanity if I stopped reading papers I found lying around. This one had been even more disturbing. It made me think of the apartment in my nightmares and the ghosts that had attacked. And the page said that anyone taken by that world would be there forever; could that explain what had happened to me?

Maybe food would lighten my mood. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten. I went to the small kitchen area, ignored the shelves I knew were empty, and opened the refrigerator. A bottle of wine sat next to a bottle of chocolate milk. I closed the refrigerator. With no chance of replenishing my food supplies, I couldn't afford to eat just because I felt unhappy.

Walking back into the living room to resume my tour, I checked a few more things and then stopped dead as a crashing sound came from the bathroom. With the way the day had been going, I was almost afraid to find out what that was, but I steeled myself and walked towards the door across from my bedroom. I glanced at the wall at the end of the short hallway, feeling an odd sense of unease, then I shook my head and entered the bathroom.

Beside the sink, there was a hole in the wall. I stared at it. There was nothing to indicate how it had gotten there. It was as if it had appeared on its own, obliterating the bathroom mirror in the process. I looked around and then leaned towards the hole, shouting into it out of the wild hope that someone had tunneled to me to help me escape. There was no answer.

I hesitated. On one hand, this looked like another supernatural occurrence I wanted nothing to do with. On the other hand…

The apartment definitely wasn't that big. That hole could very well lead to a way out. I grabbed the steel pipe left from the plumbing that went through that section of the wall and wiggled it until I found a weak spot. Pulling it free, I looked at it for a moment and then shook my head.

Tossing the pipe to the side, I took a deep breath and climbed into the hole.

xXx

I was sitting on an escalator.

The last thing I remembered was straining to climb through the tunnel. It had been longer than I had expected, but I kept pulling myself towards the light that hopefully led to the outdoors. Something must have happened when I reached the end. Could I have blacked out for a moment? Even if I had, it didn't explain how I ended up here.

I looked from side to side and then twisted my head to look behind me. The place I was in was dimly lit and dingy, but it felt familiar. At least I wasn't in the apartment anymore. I got to my feet, riding the escalator the rest of the way down. As I stepped off and walked forward, I realized I was in the South Ashfield subway station.

"How did I get here?" I muttered, walking cautiously along. I had been here before, but it had always been crowded then. Now the place was abandoned—and my heart sank. Perhaps I hadn't escaped the apartment after all. This section of the station seemed just as cut off from the rest of the world.

Movement caught my eye, and I froze. There was a dark-haired woman up ahead, wearing a low-cut red shirt and a short skirt. She was pacing back and forth, high heels clicking on the floor with each step. For a moment, I stared in shock at seeing another person, and then I started running towards her.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, as soon as I reached her. Her voice had a slight accent. "Do you know how long I've been waiting?"

She could see me. It had been so long since I had spoken to another person that I nearly collapsed with relief. Up close I could see that she was wearing jewelry, and that her shirt was cut even lower than I had initially thought. "My name's Henry," I gasped. "And you are…?"

One of her eyebrows arched. "You can't be serious."

I frowned. "What…have we met?"

She looked up. "Oh, it's going to be one of _these_ days," she commented to the ceiling. Then she stepped closer and twined her arms around my neck, bringing her face close to my ear. "Cynthia," she breathed. "A name you should never forget."

I felt hot and uncomfortable being so close to her, but I had gone so long without human contact that I was reluctant to pull away. In the end, she was the one who let go of me, stepping back with a satisfied smile.

"Coming?" she asked, starting to walk away.

The station was still completely empty besides the two of us, so I hurried to catch up with her. Glancing from side to side, I couldn't help but wonder why she was in an abandoned subway station and what she thought she was going to do here. "Sorry, where are we going again?"

She frowned and glanced over at me. "You _are_ in a state, aren't you? Not knowing my name, not knowing where we're going…for that matter, you don't look so good. Have you been missing meals again? And when was the last time you got a haircut?"

I ran my hands through my hair self-consciously. All right, so it was getting a little long. I didn't even want to think about when I had last eaten. "It's not my fault; I've been trapped in my apartment!"

Cynthia pursed her lips. "That's a new one."

"I'm telling the truth. My door is locked from the inside, and I've been having these horrible nightmares…"

"Well, you seem to have gotten out."

"Yeah…" I looked from side to side and shivered. "Uh…Cynthia, right? Cynthia, why are we the only ones here?"

She stopped and turned to me, leaning against the fading advertisements with a sultry smile. "Does it matter, as long as we're together?"

I laughed nervously and wondered exactly what our relationship was and why I couldn't remember her. I looked around, hoping something in the area could at least remind me of why she had expected me to come here with her. My gaze fell on the bathroom door, and a headache struck me so suddenly that I cried out. Nearly blinded by the pain throbbing inside my head, I stumbled forward.

_A body flew out from the bathroom door. It was a dog—but not a normal dog. Its fur and skin were patchy, revealing sores and exposed muscle. Its tongue hung out at least a foot from its mouth. It hit the ground with a snarling cry, dead. Two more prowled out behind it, alive but otherwise in the same condition. They lifted their heads. Their tongues suddenly stiffened and sharpened, coming down like proboscises into the flesh to drain it of blood…_

_ I leaped backwards, wishing I had a weapon…_

"What is it? What's wrong?"

At the sound of Cynthia's voice, I jumped, and the pain in my head cleared. I looked up into her alarmed face, and then I looked at the hallway where I had seen the gruesome act. There was no sign of the dogs. "Did you see…anything?" I asked. My whole body was shaking.

She shook her head and frowned. "You're not going to be any fun today, are you?"

"No, I don't think I am," I replied, feeling a little testy that she was more concerned about having a good time than about me. I didn't understand what had happened, and that worried me. That vision felt too close to the things that happened to me in the apartment. "I've got to get out of here."

"All right," she said, shaking her head. "Let's go, then."

She started off at a brisk clip, and I hurried to keep up with her. As we walked, I watched her, still hoping a memory would trigger. Our footsteps sounded lonely and ominous in the silence around us. The station seemed to get darker and more run down the further we walked, but Cynthia didn't even seem to notice. I knew this place, but it hadn't been like this before. What had happened to it?

_First things first,_ I told myself. _I need to get out and find out what happened to my apartment._

We walked past the turnstiles and continued through the station. My headache was returning. I hoped it wouldn't get as bad as it had earlier. I never had headaches that intense. At least we were almost to the exit…

Something caught my eye, and I froze.

"What is it this time?" Cynthia demanded.

"I…" I took a closer look at the wall that had caught my attention. There was nothing there. "Never mind." Still, as we resumed walking, I gave that wall a wide berth. For a moment I had been sure that some horrible, undulating mass had threaded itself through the station, jerking and twitching. Just the thought made me feel sick with horror. I rubbed my head. Headaches and horrible hallucinations? What was happening to me?

We turned at the end of the hall and climbed the stairs. Where the exit to the streets should have been, only a dead end waited. Gripped with a cold chill, I turned and ran up the opposite set of stairs, no longer caring how close it took me to where the thing in my hallucination had been. It, too, ended suddenly.

I pounded against the wall, my claustrophobia suddenly too much to bear. The tunnel had led out of my apartment, but I was still trapped. The walls around me enclosed a larger area now, but that was it. I needed to get out. Sinking to my knees, I stared ahead in despair, wishing the power of my will alone could open the way to the outside. My heart was pounding and I could feel the back of my neck prickling. I did not want to be here. This subway station was a bad place. If I stayed here, something back would happen.

"Is there another way out?" I asked, getting to my feet and turning to face Cynthia.

She folded her arms. "Well, we could try another platform."

"Please!"

She laughed and started to walk back the way we had come. "All right, but you owe me for this one. At least it won't be crowded."

I nodded and hurried until I was walking alongside her. "About that… Cynthia, don't you find this weird at all?"

"Of course, but you're always weird," she said with a smirk. She laughed and shook her head. "My boyfriend, the crazy man; what _will_ people say?"

"Your—what?" I shook my head, feeling like I was losing all sense of what was real and what wasn't. I didn't have a girlfriend. Did I? "That wasn't what I meant. I mean…_this_!" I spread my arms and indicated the station around us. "We're the only people here, the exits are blocked, everything looks like it hasn't been used in years, and—you may find this hard to believe—I got here by _climbing through a hole I found in my bathroom!_"

She stopped as we neared the turnstile and turned to stare at me. "You got here how?"

"By climbing through a hole in my bathroom," I said calmly, trying to hold back the waves of panic filling me. Something wasn't right here. Something really wasn't right. "Cynthia, if you don't mind me asking…if the exits are blocked, how did you get here?"

"Do you remember the day we first met?" she asked, moving towards me with a wink.

I stepped backwards before she could touch me. "That wasn't an answer. How did you get in here?" I rubbed my arms, wishing I had worn my coat. It felt like the temperature had suddenly plummeted. I could see my breath. "Okay, forget it. Let's just—"

The air suddenly shimmered, and I stepped backwards as the floor twisted and changed. The walls around me were crystalizing, becoming a strange blue color. The turnstiles were icing over; icicles shot down from the transforming ceiling. And Cynthia, her hand still reaching out to me, had stiffened, her skin turning blue from the cold. I reached out to grab her arm, but she was so cold that I pulled back in alarm. The color spread to encompass her entire body, even her hair and clothes, until I was looking at an ice sculpture, her face frozen in a flirtatious smile.

I looked around in shock at the ice world that had formed around me, and then I started to run, now hoping desperately that I could find a way back to the apartment I had tried so hard to escape.


	3. Chapter 3: Ghosts

"_I don't need no arms around me,  
__And I don't need no drugs to calm me,  
__I have seen the writing on the wall…"  
_-Pink Floyd, "Another Brick In The Wall (Part 3)"

Chapter 3: Ghosts

The subway was freezing, and I barely recognized it as the same place I had walked through with Cynthia. Everything was crystalized, and I would have thought it was hauntingly beautiful if I wasn't panicking. Alone again, and I didn't even understand what had happened.

My footsteps echoed around the halls as I retraced our steps at a run. From time to time I slipped, but for the most part, the ice was just tractable enough that I could keep running. Once, I stopped to reach out and touch it. It felt like ice, but as I pulled my freezing fingers away, I couldn't help but think that there was something strange about it. As different as it was, it reminded me of the bloody room from my nightmares.

After that thought, I didn't stop again. I kept running, desperate to escape this place before something terrible happened. The sight of Cynthia freezing over and turning to ice kept replaying itself in my mind. I wouldn't let that happen to me. I reached the escalators I had ridden down after climbing through the hole. Frozen in motion, they sparkled with the ice that encased each step. Ice crystals broke off and floated around me in a strange shower as I ran up the escalator.

At the top, there was nothing. Only more ice greeted my journey. I cried out in dismay and looked around at the walls, the ceiling, even the floor, but there was nothing that even vaguely resembled the hole from my bathroom.

_I got _here_, so there has to be a way back,_ I told myself, but I wasn't so sure. I had come from an apartment where the doors and windows no longer worked. Who was I to try to impose logic upon this world?

My initial panic had faded, and now I just felt incredibly lonely. I turned and sat on the topmost escalator step, hugging my arms around my knees. It had been so good to be with another person after being isolated in my apartment. I hadn't understood everything Cynthia had said to me, but she had spoken to me, touched me. She was a real, warm person. Or at least, she had been.

I thought about the frozen figure I had left behind and remembered the phone call I had received that morning. There was no longer any doubt in my mind that this subway was not a part of the outside world any more than my apartment was. A call that made it to my phone, when every other call failed and the cord was cut, could not have come from the outside world. Either it really had been Cynthia calling me, or someone else was here.

Whoever it was, she was in danger.

With the sudden conviction that if I started moving now, I could change things, I got to my feet and started back down the escalator. There had to be areas of the subway I hadn't seen yet. If I couldn't find anything, I would return to Cynthia. Maybe I could thaw her out or find a way to move her. It didn't seem right to leave her frozen there by the turnstiles.

Moving at an easy pace down the icy corridors, I had just begun to think that I could get used to seeing the world like this, when pain split my head again. I groaned, staggering around near the bathrooms. I leaned against the cold wall, closing my eyes and hoping it would pass soon.

_"Aren't you a little _young_ to be here?" a girl's voice snickered._

I opened my eyes, thinking I had found someone at last, but no one was around me. The voices continued, along with sounds that gave me the momentary illusion that the subway was active and bustling.

_"What's going on?" _

_ "Look, fresh meat!"_

_ "Aww, is someone lost?"_

_ The girls burst out laughing, and their voices slowly faded away._

My head stopped throbbing, and I stood up and looked around. Could these hallucinations actually be trying to tell me something? My gaze fell on the bathroom doors, and I opened the door to the men's room. It opened easily, despite the ice. Walking inside, I saw nothing out of the ordinary, so I tried the women's restroom next. Again, despite everything being covered in ice, it looked like a normal bathroom.

I frowned, thinking that maybe my guess had been wrong after all. Then I noticed something different about the far wall of the bathroom. I walked towards it and saw that beneath the ice, words had been scribbled in a red substance that reminded me disturbingly of blood.

_By the Mystery of the 21 Sacraments,  
__The Mother shall be reborn_

Something about the words made my skin crawl, but before I could figure out what they might mean, icy wind howled around me and cut into my skin, and the flickering lighting that had kept the subway lit died away. Left alone in the darkness, I felt around with my hands to try to find my way back to the door. My heart was pounding, and I thought I could hear a cracking sound behind me, as if the ice were shattering.

Pain stabbed through my head, and I stopped, prepared for another wave of the headache. This time, however, it spread, sending jolts throughout my body. I shuddered and nearly fell to the ground. I would have let myself collapse if the sense that I was being watched hadn't caused me to slowly turn around.

The ice had indeed shattered along that back wall. Coming forth from it was the ghost from my nightmares, bleached white skin, glaring eyes, mouth opening in a howl that chilled me to my bones. One hand reached out to grab me, and that was enough for me to ignore the pain and get to my feet. I burst through the door and charged through the subway station, heart pounding so hard I thought I was going to die.

The pain in my body receded the further I got from the ghost, which further motivated me to speed up. _This has to be a nightmare!_ I thought desperately, but I had no intention of letting the ghost catch me to see what would happen. The hallway seemed as though it had somehow gotten longer, but that seemed no less impossible than anything else that had happened. Even knowing that I was closed in and would eventually reach a dead end, I kept running. There had to be an exit somewhere.

The ice of the wall to my right cracked as I approached it, and another ghostly hand forced its way out. I had just enough time to see a dark face follow, and then I was past it, not slowing down for anything. More spirits joined the chase as I careened down the halls, and my panic grew. They were howling and snarling, and I knew they wanted nothing more than to catch and murder me. Every time I started to slow, spasms of pain reminded me that I had to keep going.

I risked a glance back. There were too many of them, and they were gaining. _No, no, no!_ I forced more speed into my burning legs, managing to stagger forward until I reached the turnstiles. There, I fell against Cynthia's frozen form, wishing I had gotten to talk to her more. Now I would die without ever finding out why I knew this woman or how we had gotten trapped in this world together.

_Please don't find me,_ I whimpered silently, shuffling behind the ice sculpture like a frightened child. I couldn't run any further. They were going to get me. I could see their faces, hate-filled and bloodthirsty, as too many hands stretched out. I clutched Cynthia's frozen hand, wanting to at least pretend I had company other than the dead, and something shifted against my fingers.

I looked and saw a coin, marked as being for the Lynch Street Line. I plucked it from her frozen fingers, vaguely remembering that she had been planning on going somewhere with me. Racked with pain, I searched the turnstiles until I found the Lynch Street Line exit.

Clammy hands caught and tore at me, and a red haze filled my vision. I somehow managed to use the coin, because then I was tumbling through the turnstile and the ghosts were pulled away from me.

How long I lay there panting, I wasn't sure. When I finally came to my senses and sat up, I was mercifully alone. Stairs descended in front of me, covered in ice, and I took a deep breath before starting down them.

The air seemed to be crystalizing around me, and my steps slowed as I descended. It was strangely beautiful, but so lonely. I had never felt so cut off from the rest of the world; even in my apartment, I had had signs that there were other people around. We couldn't communicate, but I could see them and hear them. Here it was all too easy to believe that the real world didn't exist. Nothing existed but this world of translucent ice that would become my tomb.

I shivered, the thought of death shaking me from my reverie. I started running down the steps again, convinced that if I stood still for too long, I would become encased in ice, like Cynthia.

_Cynthia…_

My head started to hurt as I started down another set of stairs, and I made myself move even faster in case the ghosts were returning. However, sounds and voices filled my ears as they had before, as if the station was filled with people.

"Not again," I muttered, stumbling forward down the steps in the hopes that I could escape the hallucination. The previous ones had told me nothing of use. Trying to follow the last one as a guide had only resulted in this terrible ice world. Some of the voices were clearer than others, but I tried to ignore them. Whatever the station wanted me to know about these taunting girls and whoever they were addressing, I didn't care about it. I just wanted to escape.

_"Room 302…"_

I froze as the number of my apartment caught my ear. This couldn't have anything to do with me. It could be a different Room 302 entirely. Even telling myself these things, I didn't believe them. My apartment and this world were connected. What would this hallucination—this memory of the subway station—be about if not this world?

_"Well, you're handsome," a voice I recognized as at least similar to Cynthia's said. "Where are you from?"_

_ "I came from Silent Hill," a man responded, in the same voice that had mentioned my apartment, but now it chilled me to the bone for reasons I couldn't explain._

_ "Don't talk to him!" a different girl shouted, disbelief ringing in her tone._

_ "Come on, let's get out of here!" another agreed._

_ "Wait! Cynthia!"_

_ "Hey, you misunderstood," Cynthia said, the pity in her voice not able to entirely mask the derision beneath it. "I know I said you're handsome, but you're also filthy. Not the sort of thing a girl like me is into. How do you know my name, anyway?"_

_ "I…" The man sounded almost frightened; I would have felt bad for him if not for the pounding insistence in the back of my mind that I needed to get away. "I first heard your name ten years ago…"_

_ "Ten years?! You've been watching me for ten years?"_

_ "N-no, I—"_

_ "Get away from me! You're disgusting!"_

When the voices faded and I was left alone in the subway station again, I continued down the stairs, feeling disappointed and shaken. Why had my apartment been mentioned at all in that conversation? More importantly, why was I hearing it now? Cynthia had sounded like a kid. If she had talked to a stalker when she was young, what did it have to do with me now?

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I looked out at the subway cars. They were frozen in place, held to the frosty tracks by the ice that encased them both. I walked towards them slowly, but I didn't know what I would do when I reached them. These cars would never move. I couldn't use them to escape.

Even if I could, I worried that I would only be taken to another part of this unearthly world.

Movement caught my eye, and I looked over sharply. Someone was inside one of the subway cars. I ran towards it, keeping my eye on the figure I had glimpsed walking past the windows. When I reached the car, I had just enough time to see that it was Cynthia before she opened a door and disappeared inside the adjacent car.

"Wait!" I shouted. "Cynthia, it's me!"

She was gone, vanished from my sight as easily as if she had been a ghost—a prospect not entirely out of the realm of possibility. I had seen her turn to ice. I had left her frozen body at the turnstiles while fleeing the ghosts. Now, she had somehow gotten ahead of me.

_The ice isn't fatal._ The thought gave me hope, as cold as I was.

I tentatively tried the slick doors of the subway car, and to my surprise, they opened. Inside, I could see what the transformation had done to the cars. The metal was buckled beneath its icy coating, bent inward and outward at various spots. The seats were askew, pillars of ice having forced their way between them. The door at the head of the car was completely frosted over, a solid sheet preventing me from even going near it. The door I had seen Cynthia enter was clear of ice, but stubbornly resisted my attempts to open it.

After trying to open it for some time, I kicked it. All that accomplished was hurting my foot. Hopping around, I considered the situation. There had to be a way through that door. Cynthia had gone through it, probably trying to find the exit. For all I knew, she had seen _me_ turn to ice by the turnstile. If she could get through the door, I could get through the door. It must have been open already, automatically locking when she closed it behind her.

_Or maybe I imagined her,_ a voice in the back of my mind whispered, but I ignored it. She had been there, and I would find her.

I left the car and began to look around the rest of the area. There wasn't much to see, except for a map which confirmed my suspicion—I had to get to the other side of the tracks to make it to the exit. I checked each car, but only encountered locked doors. Just as I was starting to get frustrated and considering finding a way to climb on top of the cars, I found a door that would open.

Triumphant, I entered the car and discovered that the only other door in it was also locked. There was no way to get into the rest of the cars from this one, either. However, there was a display against the wall that showed the layout of the cars, with doors outlined and lit up green and red. After comparing the map to what I had seen outside, I realized that the green doors were the unlocked ones, none of which connected to one another's cars, and the red doors were locked ones. There were several buttons beneath the display.

Pressing one cautiously, I heard squeaks and clanks from around me, and I braced myself against the sides of the car, afraid I had started up the subway. Then the noise stopped, and the display changed. The doors that had been green were now red, while some of the previously red ones were green. Trying the other buttons with more confidence, I got similar results, affecting different doors. All I would have to do was press the right buttons in the right combination so that I could make it through from one side to the other.

That was easier said than done. After an initial burst of confidence, I found myself hitting buttons at random in the hope that I would get lucky, finally kicking the machine and hurting my foot again, belatedly reminding myself that as angry as I was at it, I did not want to damage this console.

"Focus," I said to myself out loud. It would be a relief to reunite with Cynthia so I could talk to someone other than myself. She had seemed at ease in the abandoned subway; maybe she knew more about what was going on here than I did.

I stared at the device and tried each button multiple times, fixing in my mind which doors each controlled. Then I studied the map closely, determining all the possible routes I could take to make it through the subway cars from one side to the other. Once my concentration was fixed on the project, I felt it coming together in my mind. Twice I started, only to realize that it wasn't going to work, and the third time I tried, I knew I had it. Pressing the buttons quickly, before I could lose the solution that had taken form in my mind, I smiled triumphantly at the display. There now was an open path through.

No sooner had I stepped away from the console than a howling screech caused me to clap my hands over my ears. I looked around in bewilderment as my head started hurting, and then I saw the ethereal form of a ghost breaking through the frozen ceiling.

I ran out of the car into chaos. All around, the floor of the subway station was cracking, ice shattering, as hands reached up to grab me. I ran with difficulty, trying to avoid the clutching fingers. The ghosts were all shrieking wordlessly, their cries coming together in eerie harmony until it almost sounded like a song of despair, hate, and death. I could see the open door just feet away, and I prayed they couldn't follow me inside.

A hand caught my ankle like a cold vice, and I pulled away desperately, feeling strength leaching out into the specter that rose up from the ground to stare at me. For a moment I was paralyzed by the face of the dead woman, wondering who she was and how her ghost had come to haunt this place, and then I felt cold fingers on the back of my neck. Snapping to my senses, I shoved the ghost with all my might, hoping that if she could touch me, I could touch her as well.

It felt like I barely budged her, but it was just enough that I could get my foot free. I took off towards the cars again, narrowly evading the three ghosts who had snuck up behind me.

_How many of them are there?_ I wondered desperately, darting inside the car and stopping to catch my breath.

The unearthly howling grew louder, and I saw figures at the door's entrance. Not waiting to see if they could enter or not, I ran towards the door I had unlocked. Once through it, I slammed it behind me and looked at the two doors in the car I was in now. Both were free of ice, but only one would be unlocked. On the seat beside the door, a box sat, as clean of ice as if it had been just placed there, or if the ice had overlooked it as it had me.

I stepped towards it, curious, but then pain stabbed through my head. I was starting to distinguish between pain from the hallucinations and pain from the ghosts, and this meant ghosts. I turned. The door I had come through was still shut, but one of the ghosts had come partially through it. His head glared at me, and I could tell the rest of his body was on its way.

Running towards one of the doors, I tried in vain to get it open. Cursing under my breath, I ran to the other door and flung it open. This time I didn't bother to close it, knowing that would present no difficult for the ghosts. Speed was what I needed now, as I could hear them screaming from all sides—I imagined they had no need for the doors at all. I called to mind the image of the display after my solution had been applied, trying to remember which doors I had opened.

Tentatively trying one door, I found my way into the next car, and that refreshed my memory. Not letting go of the mental map in my mind, I raced through the maze of cars, not daring to slow down. Ducking around pillars of ice and opening doors as quickly as I could, I made my way to the other side and stumbled out onto the platform.

Ahead of me, I saw Cynthia, clearly outlined against the ice, but then she walked through a doorway and disappeared.

"Cynthia!" I shouted, running after her. The room she had entered was tiny, so slick with ice that it almost appeared to glow blue. There was no other exit except for what looked like a maintenance ladder.

I took a deep breath and followed her down into a blood-red room.

The walls looked like they were alive. I had the sudden disturbing feeling that I had been consumed by some massive creature and was now trapped inside its body. I forced down my panic and reached out cautiously towards the wall. I almost didn't want to touch it and find out that it really was warm and living, but there was something compelling about it…

A cold, smooth surface met my questing fingers. This room was frozen, as all the others had been. My relief was not enough to mask my growing discomfort, as I walked through the room that was covered in red ice. It looked as though someone had been murdered in water or snow, the bloody liquid then allowed to freeze.

"Cynthia?" I called nervously.

I heard a door shut up ahead. That had to be her. Who else would be here?

This room clearly was used for maintenance of some kind. I could see pipes, stacked boxes, buckets, and tools when I looked closely. At a glance, however, the whole area took on the appearance of some ghastly ritual. Those tools—tools of a different sort. The boxes—a jagged altar. Pipes and buckets—all that remained of the victims, body parts strewn across a frozen landscape.

"You're imagining things," I told myself out loud, stopping pointedly by a bucket to confirm that it really was just a bucket, trapped in the strange ice. Not entirely comforted, I started walking faster. I didn't like imagining things like this. Being stuck in isolation any longer might cause me to lose my head entirely.

Finally, I reached a door. Stepping through, I saw another platform, this one covered in blue ice, to my relief. Up ahead, I saw a woman running around a corner.

"Cynthia!" I shouted, taking a step forward.

Howling echoed all around, and the ice close to me started to crack. I broke into a run, dashing around frozen benches, garbage cans, posts, and similar things—some of which I would have sworn sprung up in my path just to try to halt my progress.

A scream rang out up ahead.

"Cynthia?" I called, dread settling in my stomach. Had the ghosts gone after her, as well?

"It's him!" she screamed. "He's coming!"

I didn't know who she meant, but I didn't have the time to find out. We made a ghastly procession through the frozen, ravaged subway station—Cynthia up ahead, barely in my sight; followed by me, panicked and running as fast as I could; and finally a band of screaming, snarling ghosts. Every time I started to slow, I could feel myself almost being drawn back towards them.

At last, I reached an escalator, stopped in time as the previous one had been. I took the steps two at a time, gasping for breath as I went.

A hand burst from the wall and grabbed me around the neck. I struggled, reaching up to grapple with the ghost that had caught me. Its face looked familiar, but I didn't know why. It wasn't the ghost from my nightmares.

I managed to get free, but I continued up the escalator with more caution, my throat hurting. Many of the ghosts had stopped chasing me and were choosing instead to come through the walls. The escalator seemed to go on forever, but finally, the end was in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief, and then a ghost burst through the wall to block my path.

With reaching hands on all sides, I leaped over to the other escalator with agility I didn't know I had. Bounding up those steps, I stumbled forward towards the exit. I remembered how the ones Cynthia and I had found before had been blocked, and I prayed that wouldn't be true this time.

_In any case, _I told myself,_ if it's blocked, Cynthia will be waiting up there, and then we can work together. I won't be alone anymore._

It was just a little further. I climbed the stairs, hearing the ghosts coming from behind. Nevertheless, I stopped dead in my tracks when I reached the top. Blood had pooled on top of the ice of the floor, alongside a pile of objects. Slowly approaching, I picked up one small brush and realized they were makeup items. Cynthia must have been carrying them.

I looked at the door in front of me, and the ice cracked. I took a step back, expecting more ghosts, but their wailing faded away. The ice melted, receding from the door and from the entire room until it was gone without a trace. Taking a deep breath, I approached the door. There was a plate on it, with _Temptation_ written on it.

The word brought to mind the way Cynthia had acted towards me, and my feeling of dread increased. I took the plate, feeling somehow I had to, and then I took a deep breath and opened the door.

For a moment, I thought I had found another room covered in red ice. Then the smell hit me, and I realized this room had thawed like the other, and it was blood that drenched the walls and dripped onto the floor. In the center of the room, Cynthia lay motionless.

"No!" I ran towards her and fell to my knees amidst the blood. Her clothes were soaked, and I could see the wounds in her chest and stomach. I reached out, intending to staunch the flow with my hand and hope we could find help before she lost too much blood, but then I saw that she had been stabbed too many times. There was nothing I could do now.

My fingers hovering an inch above her skin, I realized there was something different about one of the cuts. Numbers were carved across her left breast. I took a closer look. _16/21._ My mind recoiled, as if remembering a long-forgotten nightmare. Those numbers… This was more than just a murder… Just as quickly as it had come, the flash of recognition vanished.

"Hey…" Cynthia's voice was weak.

Looking down at the woman I knew I couldn't save, I put my hand beneath her head and lifted her up to rest her body against mine. Her blood was dripping onto my hands and clothes, but I didn't care.

"Cynthia," I whispered, looking down at her bloody face so close to mine and thinking about how she had claimed we knew each other, and more than that, that we were a couple. The more I looked, the more I convinced myself that she was right. She was familiar. "I'm here."

She struggled for breath. "You…remember…right?"

I hated lying to her, but I couldn't bring myself to disappoint her while she was dying. "Of course. How could I forget?"

The corner of her mouth turned up in a crooked smile. She lifted her head, and before I knew what she was doing, she had kissed me, her lips leaving a bloody imprint on my own. Her eyes met mine one final time, and then she went still.

I had never felt more alone in my life than I did then, cradling Cynthia's dead body and wondering what was happening to me.


	4. Chapter 4: The Forest

"_Is all that we see or seem  
But a dream within a dream?"  
_-Edgar Allan Poe, "A Dream Within a Dream"

Chapter 4: The Forest

I opened my eyes and found myself lying on the bed in my apartment, staring up at the ceiling. For a moment, I was confused and disoriented, and a series of strange thoughts flew through my head before I remembered what had happened. I sat up and stared around at the room in bewilderment. How had I gotten _here_? I had been in the subway with Cynthia…I didn't remember leaving her side, and I certainly hadn't found the other end of the tunnel to crawl through.

_Was it all just a dream?_

I lay back down very slowly, feeling troubled. I wasn't sure which possibility was worse. If it hadn't been a dream, then the world my apartment was ensnared in was larger than I had thought, I was suffering from recurring hallucinations and amnesia, a mob of ghosts was out for my blood, and a woman I couldn't remember had died in my arms. On the other hand if it _had_ been a dream, I was still trapped within the walls of my apartment.

Shouts pulled me from my uncomfortable thoughts.

"Get her into the ambulance!"

"Hurry!"

"Look, she's got numbers carved into her chest…"

I sat bolt upright and stared in the direction of the window, heart pounding. Then I leaped to my feet and ran over to look out. The entrance to the subway was visible from my apartment, and an ambulance was currently parked in front of it. I couldn't see the figure being lifted into the back of it, but I didn't need to. There was no way another person had been killed in the subway at the same time, marked in the same disturbing way.

"Cynthia," I whispered, not leaving the window until the ambulance had driven away.

A part of me hoped they could save her, but I knew it was impossible. The woman had died there, in that strange world with me, and now she was dead in the real world.

_What's going on?_ I wondered to myself, getting up and pacing back and forth in front of my bed. The subway had not been in the real world. Too many strange things had happened there. It was in whatever world my apartment was trapped in. Yet somehow, Cynthia had died and been found in the real subway. Did that mean that if I died, I would be found in the apartment? It depressed me to think that the only way to return to the real world might be to die.

I left the window and walked through the rest of my apartment, on the lookout for anything strange. I wasn't entirely convinced that the ghosts weren't going to follow me out of the subway and make my nightmare come true. Thinking about that, it occurred to me that we could have been in some sort of dream world, except that when I woke up, I was still in it.

_A dream within a dream?_

With a grim smile on my lips at the thought, I walked over to the door to see if there was any change. It was still locked and bolted, resisting all of my attempts to open it. I heard a sound from outside and looked through the peephole, although I knew that shouting out would do me no good.

An older man was sweeping just outside my door. Dressed in a sweat suit, he had white hair. His eyes turned towards the wall across from me, and I stiffened as my own gaze was drawn to the rows of bloody handprints. He had no reaction, however, and I remembered that no one out there seemed capable of seeing them.

_Who is he?_ I wondered, suddenly panicked. This couldn't be happening again. After an agonizing moment, however, I realized that I did know who he was. That was Frank Sunderland, the superintendent. I wondered dismally if he remembered me. I hoped he would at least try to do something once the rent came due. Would he be able to open the door, and if he did, what would happen?

"Let me out of here!" I shouted, although I wasn't entirely certain who I was addressing. Certainly the superintendent couldn't hear me.

I stepped back, frustrated, and something caught my eye. Another note was sticking out beneath my door. I crouched and pulled it out, unfolding the red paper with an odd thrill of excitement. While I didn't expect this note would give me instructions on how to escape the room, it still meant that someone was trying to contact me.

_Although the cult itself is gone,  
__I'm sure the spirit of it is still alive.  
__There are too many strange things happening in that town.  
__I'm investigating two people. Or maybe I should say just one.  
__I've just about discovered what's going on.  
__April 8_

Part of me hoped desperately that the writer of this note would send another message explaining what was going on. I didn't know who he—or she—was, or why the notes were appearing under my door, but I could only assume that someone else was trapped in this mysterious world, apparently investigating things. What town did he mean? Ashfield? Somehow, I didn't think so.

_"I came from Silent Hill."_

The voice from my hallucination echoed again in my mind, and a chill ran down my spine. Yes, there were strange rumors about Silent Hill…and that town had had a cult. It fit with what the note said.

"Well, whoever you are," I said to the mysterious writer as I took the note to put it in my scrapbook with the others, "I'm going to find you."

My course determined, I went over to the closet to get my coat, remembering how cold the subway had become. It was missing. I frowned at the empty closet for a moment and then shook my head. By this point, a missing coat was hardly worth thinking about. I returned to the bathroom, prepared to take the tunnel to the subway station again. As soon as I opened the door, I stopped. The hole was bigger. Now the surrounding wall was destroyed in places, and it was with a great deal of trepidation that I hoisted myself up into the darkness beyond.

xXx

As before, I had no recollection of what happened between when I was crawling through the tunnel and when I regained awareness. I found myself sitting in a forest glade, and I looked around in confusion. What I remembered of the tunnel was certainly different from the previous trip. There had been twists and turns along the way. Apparently, it had twisted until it led to a different location.

There was no forest like this in Ashfield, and I couldn't even begin to wrap my mind around how the tunnel had changed. There obviously was something mysterious—and, I feared, sinister—at work here. The rules of this world did not match those of the real world, and I would have to learn to accept that. For now, there was nothing I could do but get to my feet and hope I could find someone to help me.

It was quiet, although I could hear insects somewhere in the trees. I looked up at the night sky and felt a twinge of discomfort. It wasn't just that the time did not match what I could see out my apartment windows. Overall, I couldn't shake my unease about the place I was in.

I walked down the forest path, listening to the gravel crunching beneath my feet. When I reached a gate, I opened it and found myself in a very different place.

This seemed to be some sort of industrial area. I looked around, curious, but there was no sign as to what it had been used for in the past. A squeak came from above me, and I ducked, covering my head with my hands as the most terrible image came into my mind. _Strange flying creatures, not fully mammal or insect, but like the two had fused together. Bat-like wings with clawed tips stretched away from a repulsive body, and insect-like eyes stared down past a vicious, hooked proboscis. _I looked around desperately for something I could use to get the creature away from me, and then the image faded and I watched the bat fly away. There was nothing strange about it at all.

Still, I hoped it wouldn't come anywhere near me. My enthusiasm for this area left me entirely, and I ran past boxes and machinery without a backwards look. The squeaking of the bats and the chirruping of insects made my skin crawl. When I reached a gate that led me back into the forest, the trees felt oppressive and I considered turning around.

But there was nowhere to go but forward.

The path here was still visible, but I could see the forest extending deeper on either side of me. I was tempted to deviate from my course and just keep running. There had to be an end to the forest, and then I would be free. In my heart, though, I knew that it would be like the subway world had been. I would not be able to escape, no matter what I did. My best chance was to find someone who knew what was going on.

Bats darted around me from time to time, and I ignored them with difficulty, praying they weren't gearing up to attack. Occasionally a small, buzzing creature would fly out from the trees, and I would stumble backwards, futilely swatting at it until it bit me and left. Even if they weren't the mothbat creatures from my vision, the insect life of the forest seemed to have a vendetta against me. Before very long, my arms were dotted with bites, and I was feeling thoroughly miserable.

A car was parked up ahead.

I stared at it for a moment, and then I ran towards it. Despite being off from the path, nothing had grown up around its wheels. The body of the vehicle was slightly beat up, but I didn't think it was the sort of damage that would be caused by abandonment in a forest. It had been parked here recently, and the driver's seat door was open. I walked around to look inside and saw items scattered across the seat, including a scrap of paper. I picked it up.

_It's been a while since I came here to Silent Hill.  
__Maybe I'll meet the Devil this time.  
__But whenever I come to a cool place like Silent Hill,  
__I always get real thirsty.  
__Jasper Gein_

"Am I in Silent Hill?" I asked out loud. I set the paper back where I had found it and took a look at the memo pad lying beside it.

_I'm not sure what that nosy guy meant when he said:  
_"_His home is the orphanage in the middle.  
__The lake is northwest. So the opposite is southeast.  
__The nosy guy said one other thing I didn't understand:  
_"_If you bring the dug-up key,  
__you can't go back.  
__Put it away somewhere before you return there."_

It didn't make any more sense to me than it had to whoever had written it down. My arm stung as something else bit it, and I swatted it away irritably. Then I returned to the path, feeling slightly better nevertheless. Now I knew there was someone else here with me. The path wound through the trees until it reached another gate. I pushed it opened and stepped through.

A strange sight met my eyes. The path gave way to a field, but dozens of candles sat burning along the top of a railing that continued along. At first glance, they appeared to be there just to light the way, but somehow I couldn't stop thinking that they were set in a ritualistic fashion. No normal person would use candles to light the path in a forest. It was not the sort of thing one expected to see, and I felt a chill as I remembered the Silent Hill cult. I had to be in Silent Hill's forest.

Across from the candle-lit railing was a massive rock. It was enormous, sticking up from the landscape and unlike anything else that I had seen there. I imagined that it had been deposited by a glacier in the distant past, but something about it seemed off. Like the rest of the forest, the boulder had a sinister aura about it.

Leaning against it was a young man with a partially-shaved head, and I wondered if it was his car back there. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with some sort of demon on the front, but I was so glad to see another person that I ran right up to him before reassessing the situation and realizing that he might be a cultist. By then, it was too late.

"They used to call it Nahkeehona."

I jumped as he leaned towards me. "Sorry?"

He waved his hand at the rock behind him. "They believed it had the power to communicate with the dead. But now they're gone, and Nahkeehona is on the Order's land. This close to the orphanage, it's used in _their_ ceremonies now. They call it the mother stone, right?"

I stared at him, wondering what was going on. "I don't know…"

He nodded as if I hadn't said a word and he was simply having a conversation with himself. "That guy was here again, Joseph Schreiber. I think he's investigating the Order."

The name struck a chord in my mind, but I couldn't place it. I wondered if he was the person who had written the note I found that morning, as the writer had been investigating someone and knew about the cult. "The Order is the Silent Hill cult?" I asked, wanting to confirm my suspicion.

The man looked surprised. "Of course! You know that!"

"I've had some trouble remembering things lately," I muttered, feeling more paranoid by my amnesia with every new thing I learned. "Can you tell me where I am? Oh, and I'm Henry Townshend." I held out my hand.

Instead of shaking it, he looked at me like I was out of my mind. "What are you doing, man?"

"I was just introducing myself…"

"Knock it off, man; we've got to go find Bobby and Sein."

_Oh no, not again…_ Realizing I was supposed to know this man, I swallowed hard and wondered how to explain these strange gaps in my memory to him. "We…do?"

"They said they'd meet us by Nahkeehona, but they must have gotten lost."

"Oh, well… we don't want the Order to find them. We better go see where they got to. Come on, Bobby," I said, hoping that he would correct my "mistake" so I could learn if he was the one whose car I had seen or not.

"I'm Jasper, remember?" he asked in a dry tone.

"Of course," I said, faking a laugh. "I always get you two confused."

He gave me a look that was quite disbelieving and then turned and started to walk deeper into the forest. He barely gave the candles a second glance, walking purposefully forward as if we did this all the time. He was Jasper, then. I wondered if that meant Joseph Schreiber was the "nosy guy" he had written about.

"So," I began, catching up with him. Even if I didn't understand what was happening, I wasn't about to lose another person in this world. "How long has it been, Jasper?"

There was a long silence, and then he finally said, "Last week, in class."

I decided it was best if I didn't pursue that line of discussion. He would think I was completely insane if I admitted that I couldn't remember taking any classes. As we passed through a gate and started walking on the path through the forest again, I fought off insects and tried to think of a safe question to ask.

"So, refresh my memory," I tried, as he continued to lead the way purposefully through the forest; personally I thought we should be covering ground away from the path if we were looking for his friends. "Once we find Bobby and Sein, what are we going to do then?"

He stopped in front of a fence. The sign beside the door told me that we were almost at the Wish House Orphanage, a name that sent a shiver down my spine. An orphanage here, in Silent Hill, in a forest where Jasper had already said the cult was operating? That couldn't be good. Despite the sign proclaiming it the work of the Silent Hill Smile Society, I couldn't imagine that there were many smiles coming from this orphanage.

"After we find them," he said, pushing the door open and leading the way inside, "we'll go into the orphanage building itself, and meet the Devil!"

I turned around and walked back out the door.

Jasper grabbed my arm before I could get too far away and started pulling me through. "Don't tell me you're a chicken."

"I am very much a chicken," I said flatly, not caring about my reputation in light of what he had just told me. There was no way I was going to go along with a plan to "meet the Devil." A part of me wanted to say it was superstitious nonsense, but given where we were, I really had a terrible feeling it would work. "What are you, a cultist? Are you a member of the Order?"

He stared at me and then started laughing. "You're funny sometimes."

I had no response. Standing there by him and trying to figure out how I was going to stave off the impending disaster that this forest world was likely to bring, I looked around. Ahead of us was a building that I presumed was the orphanage, with the fence surrounding it and its immediate grounds. Besides the door we had come through, there were three others, each in a corner. On the wooden slats, pictures were painted. Flowers, the sun—these were ordinary images that any child might draw. Yet looking at them, I found myself thinking that they were sad, somehow. The orphanage looked like such a desolate place in comparison. Were these pictures drawn by children who longed for a happier life?

"Spooky, isn't it," Jasper commented. He looked around, as well. "This place… Gives me the chills just being here."

As dubious as I considered his judgment to be, I found it comforting that I wasn't the only one feeling disturbed.

"Let's split up and find them," he said. He pointed to the door to the left of the orphanage. "You go that way. I'll take one of the other paths."

He started off, but now it was my turn to catch his arm. "I don't know," I said, feeling uneasy. "Shouldn't we stick together?"

"We've wasted too much time already!" he protested. He pointed again. "You go that way. Don't worry, I won't get lost." He ran off before I could mention that I was not as confident that _I_ wouldn't get lost.

Shaking my head, I decided there was nothing for it but to do what he said. Maybe one of his friends would be able to tell me what was going on. Looking at the orphanage made my skin crawl, and even returning to the forest felt like a better option. I walked to the door and opened it, stepping out onto another forest path.

My head started aching almost immediately. I looked around for ghosts, but I didn't see any. It wasn't that sort of pain, I realized after a moment. This was the pain that meant a hallucination was coming on. I walked forward slowly, wishing I knew what these meant. They had to be important—either that, or I was just going crazy.

As I walked past the trees, I found myself using the pain in my head as a sort of homing beacon. It grew more intense the closer I walked to the source, or so I believed. That gave me hope for my sanity. Normal hallucinations wouldn't need me to go to a particular spot to see them. Unfortunately, I could see gravestones in the distance. My headache was guiding me towards a cultist graveyard. With no other ideas, I reluctantly kept walking.

_"Hey, little boy… what are you doing here?"_

I looked around, looking for who had spoken, but then the pain in my head cleared and I realized that was it. That had been the hallucination. Considering I was at an orphanage, I really didn't understand what had just happened. I couldn't place the voice, either. It sounded familiar, really familiar, but I wasn't sure why.

"You're…"

I turned around, wondering if it was one of Jasper's friends. However, Jasper himself was standing there. I frowned at him. "Weren't you going to take the other—"

"Finally, the Third Revelation…"

"What?"

He spread out his arms, giving the sky a beatific look. "Something's gonna happen… Schreiber knows it; he knows the truth! Something big's gonna happen… Finally, it's gonna happen!" He started laughing hysterically and stumbled past me towards the graves.

"Jasper, what are you talking about?" I demanded, following him. "What's going to happen? Why did you come this way? Did you find your friends?"

He walked through the graves, weaving his way through the stones with me right behind him. Finally, he stopped and stared downwards.

"Jasper, what's going on?" Finally, I grabbed his shoulder and gave up the pretense of understanding. "Look, I don't know you. I don't know how you know me. All I know is that we're in some kind of weird alternate world, and _you_ know more about what's going on than I do! So tell me!"

"The Holy Assumption," he whispered, still staring down.

Suddenly feeling cold, I stepped past him to see what he was looking at. It was a grave, but this one had been dug up to reveal the coffin buried there. Something was inscribed on it, and I crouched to get a better look. Jasper definitely knew more about what was going on, and he seemed to think this coffin was significant. I leaned towards the coffin and read the inscription.

_11/21_

Even as I re-read the numbers and connected them with the numbers carved into Cynthia's breast, the coffin turned pale and glassy as ice spread across its surface. It swept through the grave and then up onto the ground; I jumped to my feet in alarm. Jasper was gone, as if he had run off while I was looking at the coffin.

My head started to hurt, and I heard howling from all around me as ghosts started to rise up from the ground. I tried to turn to run, but the ice had spread throughout the graveyard, causing me to slip. I lost my balance and fell, arms windmilling as I tumbled towards the grave.

_Well, this is a fitting way to end,_ I thought grimly, as I collapsed amidst the tombstones and my vision went black.


	5. Chapter 5: Fire

"_See these eyes so green,  
I can stare for a thousand years,  
Colder than the moon.  
It's been so long…  
And I've been putting out fire  
With gasoline!"  
_-David Bowie, "Cat People (Putting Out Fire)"

Chapter 5: Fire

I became aware of someone screaming, and after a moment, I realized it was me. My eyes snapped open, and I managed to stop. I was back in my apartment, lying on my bed as if I had only been dreaming. Still, the sensation of pitching forward towards those graves was still at the forefront of my mind.

A part of me wondered what Jasper would think when he realized I had disappeared. Then again, with the world frozen, he might not be aware of anything at all. I hoped the hole would take me back to the forest this time again. I wanted to find him, to find out what he knew. He had clearly had some reaction upon seeing that grave, and I knew it was tied to what had happened to Cynthia. Those two things together made it too big of a coincidence to not have something to do with my situation and the hallucinations I kept having.

I rolled out of bed and left the room, trying to ignore the ringing in my ears. As I started to open the door to the bathroom, I realized there was nothing wrong with my ears. It was the doorbell.

_Someone is trying to find me!_

Delighted that someone cared enough to realize I was missing, and hopeful that this meant I could get out of here at last, I ran to the front door and tried to open it. As usual, the chains refused to give. I looked through the peephole and saw a young brunette woman staring right back at me. It was Eileen Galvin, my neighbor.

"Hey!" I shouted, pounding the door. "I'm trapped in here! Help me! Eileen! Help me!"

I didn't think she would hear me, since she had never been able to hear me even when I shouted through the tiny hole leading to her apartment, and sure enough, she rang the doorbell a final time and then stepped back with a frown. As she studied my door, a middle-aged man with brown hair walked by, wearing a dress shirt and a tie. He stopped and also looked at my door.

_Braintree_, I thought after a moment of racking my mind to place why he looked familiar. _Richard Braintree, from the other side of the building._

"There's something strange about this room," Eileen said, and I perked up, listening closely. Did she just mean that she hadn't seen me lately, or was there something more to her comment?

"What do you mean?" Richard asked, coming closer to take a look at the door.

"I keep hearing strange noises from inside…"

"Yeah, and the guy who lives there…no one's seen him in days."

Eileen turned to him. "Richard, do you remember Joseph Schreiber's disappearance?"

He snorted. "How I could I forget it? They never even found the body…"

"This was his apartment. Isn't this awfully similar to what happened to him?"

"You're right." Richard gave the door one long, appraising look and then shook his head. "I'm going to call the super. Maybe he can figure out what's going on."

"Good idea."

As they walked down the hallway together, I stepped away from the door with a cold pit forming in my stomach. Joseph Schreiber, the man Jasper had mentioned, was the man who had lived in this apartment before me. He had tried to dig a tunnel to Eileen's apartment, and I suspected even more strongly now that he had written that note I found. But he hadn't escaped. He had disappeared.

I reminded myself that that didn't necessarily mean he had died. To all appearances, I had also disappeared. Perhaps Joseph had simply forsaken the room to continue his investigations in the rest of this alternate world. After all, Jasper knew who he was.

_Jasper…_

Bracing myself for the cold of the ice world, I ran to the bathroom, praying with all my might that I would find the forest and the strange man I had met there.

xXx

When I opened my eyes, I was sitting on top of the coffin.

I yelled and jumped up, lunging out of the grave into the waiting arms of the ghost from my nightmares. His icy clutch brought stabbing pain to my body, but due to the angle he had caught me at, I was able to wriggle free. I leaped over the nearest gravestone and ran down the forest past, not daring to look back to see how many ghosts there were.

The frozen forest had a certain sad beauty to it. Each leaf was kept separate, held apart from the others by its own gossamer coating of ice. Every trunk and branch was stiff, unmoving. Everything was held in stasis, trapped in time. Somewhere, just beyond the sound of my own breathing, I thought I could hear the voices of the children who had once lived at this orphanage. Laughter, songs, but most often of all, sobs—these songs met my ears but faded to silence when I tried to listen closer.

I wondered what had become of those children.

For a moment, as I neared the forbidding building, I thought I saw a small, pale shape flitting away in the corner of my eye. I turned, but nothing was there. Still, I felt shaken at the thought that the orphans might live on as ghosts.

"Jasper?" I called quietly, walking along the ice and noticing how stark and lonely the paintings on the fence looked amidst this panorama of blue. I tried to remember the names of his friends and succeeded after a moment. "Bobby? Sein?"

There was no answer. I looked around, wondering where they might have gone, if they remained unfrozen and alive. I had never gotten to ask Jasper how his search had gone. Now I needed to find him to ask other questions. Could this mission of his—his desire to meet the Devil—have something to do with what was happening? It certainly sounded like something that could be connected to the cult. And I had seen his enthusiasm. Disturbing as it was, I doubted he would leave the forest until he had at least attempted to find the Devil. From what he had said, that meant he would eventually enter the orphanage, if he wasn't there already.

I approached the orphanage slowly, feeling a sense of foreboding come over me. Cold air seemed to be radiating forth from it, as if reflecting the coldness of the institution. The eerie peace from the drawn flowers did not extend to these walls. The doors seemed to stare at me, threatening me, daring me to continue my approach and touch the frozen handle… A headache was upon me by the time I reached the entrance.

_"Are you sure it will work?" a man's voice asked._

_ It was a woman who responded, her voice harsh and unfeeling. "I assure you, she is the one. Her power has manifested itself already. When the ritual is completed…"_

_ "I still think the Conjurer will be the one to summon God."_

_ "Perhaps She will send us a Conjurer, just in case Alessa fails us."_

The voices quieted, and I shivered. This was definitely a place of the cult's activity. I didn't like the things they were talking about. Something about those names they had used—Alessa, Conjurer—tugged at the back of my mind, as if I had heard or seen them before. I wondered if Alessa had been one of the orphans here, but something about that didn't feel right to me.

I grabbed the door's handle and tried to open it. It was locked. I frowned at it, and then realized that there was a piece of paper sticking out from beneath it, much like the way I found notes in my apartment. I bent and picked it up.

_This insanity needs to end.  
__Please, make it end.  
__I've gone on inside on my own.  
__If you want to follow,  
__let the horrors of the past light your way._

"You couldn't have been any clearer than that?" I asked the note, shaking my head as I shoved it in my pocket. Resuming my study of the door, I saw that there were brackets on each side, where something could be placed. I read the note again and sighed. I had no idea what it wanted me to do, but it looked like I wouldn't be waiting in the orphanage for Jasper after all.

There were still two paths in the forest that I hadn't traveled down. I didn't particularly want to, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. I didn't want to sit there and wait for the ghosts to kill me. Even better, there was a chance that I might bump into Jasper or one of his friends. With any luck, I wouldn't have to go into the building at all, not that I expected luck was on my side.

I took a deep breath and then walked to the right of the orphanage. The door there was the one Jasper had gone through before, but I wasn't convinced he had actually done a thorough search before finding me in the graveyard. He might have returned to it. I opened the door and stepped out onto the path beyond.

Immediately struck by the loneliness of the forest, I looked up and realized I could no longer see the stars. There was just a crystal-like haze in the sky, as if even the clouds were susceptible to the strange freeze that had come over the forest. The sense of being outside had comforted me at the start. Now I was more aware than ever that I was still trapped. I hurried along, deviating from the path only in small steps to see if there was any sign of the others. I called out for them as I went, but only silence greeted me every time. The air seemed to get colder with every minute, and I wished I had been able to find my coat.

At last, the path ended at a door, and I opened it to walk inside. The room I found myself in made me feel even colder. It was like the room I had encountered in the subway, coated in red ice rather than the typical blue, but this was no simple storage room. An altar sat against one wall, with strange shapes carved alongside it; tools were scattered across the floor, some of which were sharp and sinister even now. A shelf across from me was heavy with thick tomes that made me oddly dizzy when I tried to focus in on their names. And most disturbingly of all, the ice jutted out in all parts of the room in shapes that looked disturbingly like corpses.

Legs hung down from the ceiling to my left, and arms curved out of the floor by my feet. A headless upper body extended from the wall on the far right, and here and there I could see faces, contorted as if screaming in pain. When I took a closer look at the grasping hand closest to me, I realized they were just statues beneath the ice, but that only slightly comforted me. Above the altar was some sort of frieze, filled with bas-reliefs of people being sacrificed in a variety of ways, each more horrific than the last. The red ice gave everything a bloody hue.

And the room was full of whispers.

_"Prepare the way…"_

_ "Who are you, to come here?"_

_ "Help us…"_

_ "Cleanse the world…"_

_ "A fitting sacrifice…"_

_ "Separate from the flesh…"_

_ "Please…have mercy…"_

Unlike my previous hallucinations, these were wild, jumbled, with none rising to the surface above the others. I caught phrases here and there, mixed together in a confusing cacophony of fear and malice intermingled. I stumbled through the room, waving my hands as if I could push the unseen speakers away. When I found a door, I shoved it open as quickly as I could, rushing out of the room to escape the memories that haunted that place.

Out in the crisp air again, I looked down at a lake. Unfrozen, the water looked vibrant and alive compared to the landscape around me. The overlook was grassy, though each blade was now frosted and stiff, cracking underfoot with every step. A fence blocked off the edge, though there was an entrance just a few feet to the side. I could see the start of what looked like a bridge just beyond it, but the bridge itself was retracted. Beside the gate sat a mechanism that I assumed controlled it.

There was no sign of anyone else, but I wasn't ready to return to that room yet. Instead, I walked over to the mechanism and inspected it. It wasn't covered in ice, and it looked like it was in surprisingly good condition for having been abandoned for so long. Everything else I had seen was in a state of disrepair.

Something caught my eye from the lake below, and I edged past the fence to get a better look. The water was so clear that from where I was standing, I could see straight down to the bottom. At the center of the lake lay a torch, still burning. Despite being completely immersed, the flame sparked and danced as if unseen currents beneath the surface had no more effect on it than would the wind. The glow was bright, lighting up the lake to the point where I marveled that I hadn't noticed immediately. The lack of starlight was still disconcerting, but this place was by no means as dark as the night should be.

I thought about the brackets I had seen by the orphanage door and pulled out the note from my pocket. The last line spoke of lighting the way. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I needed to get that torch. I pulled the lever to extend the bridge, hoping it would lead down to the lake, but nothing happened. From the lever I had pulled, I could see metal chains and gears turning futilely, and when I looked closer, I realized there was a large gap along the side of the machine, where necessary gears were missing.

Even if I was taking the appearance of a lit torch sitting at the bottom of a lake in stride, I wasn't feeling so crazy that I wanted to dive from where I was standing. For one thing, I had no idea how I would make it back to the orphanage from down there.

I turned and opened the door I had come through, hoping I could find the gear. I left it open so I wouldn't feel trapped, but as soon as I stepped within the red confines, it slammed shut behind me. Repressing a shudder, I began looking around the room. There was still a dull ache in the back of my head, but I was able to ignore both it and the lingering voices as I stepped around the contorted statues in the hope that I would find what I needed.

There was nothing to be found in most of the room, so I braced myself and approached the altar. Up close, the frieze looked even worse, and I found myself staring with horrified fascination at a crucified man and a woman being burned. Both had been created with exquisite detail, and I wondered at the sort of artist who would have done such a work. The precision was such that I had the irrepressible sense that that artist had _cared_, had approached the depiction of these deaths with a loving hand. It would have been a cultist, I was sure. Perhaps these were amongst their past rituals; perhaps the artist had been working from memory.

The other images were smaller, less well defined, but still too detailed and accurate for me to believe they had been done without firsthand knowledge. I averted my eyes, wanting to walk away, but then a corner of the artwork drew my attention again. Here was displayed a man with his hands bound behind him, being led by cultists in robes of red, towards a torture wheel. The wheel itself looked odd, though, as if it was made even from a different material than the rest of the frieze. Even the ice had left it alone.

Staring at that shape, I reached out to touch it. It was metal. Wrapping my fingers around the edge, I pried it free and smiled in triumph at the gear I now held in my hand. Judging by its size, however, I would need another one to fill in the gap in the machine, so I pocketed it and left the crimson ice behind.

The path I had taken to get there looked the same as when I had left it. I looked around the frozen trees, but I couldn't find any more gears. I walked until I reached the orphanage, scanned the area quickly to make sure there was still no sign of anyone else, and then I headed down towards the one door I hadn't passed through yet. Finding a forest path much like the previous one, I searched the area and continued on my way, feeling more confident in this world as I opened the gate.

My confidence fled as I passed through.

Though I was still on the forest path, and one step behind me was the section I had just come from, something about this area seemed different—it seemed _wrong_. The frozen trees were twisted, branches reaching out like pale hands. Somehow, the contorted shapes they formed reminded me more of corpses than even the statues in the ritual room. The starless sky felt oppressive. The cold here felt not like winter so much as a morgue. However, I could hear the crackling of fire, and as I cautiously stepped deeper into the unsettling area, I made out the glow of the second torch, high above my head. It was caught in the clawed grip of a tree just a few paces a way, a tree so close that I felt it might reach out and grab me. It stretched towards the sky, monstrously large; every one of its branches was twisted like a broken limb that had set the wrong way time after time. The trunk itself was gnarled and whorled in such ways that it seemed to be covered in ghastly, screaming faces, staring at untold horrors.

They were so distinct that I found myself counting. Twenty-one faces, and somehow that seemed important to me, although I couldn't place the significance of the number. Some of them looked too familiar, and I didn't let myself dwell on why. Twenty-one faces, and I would have to climb past each one to get the torch, scaling a tree that looked more and more like a sculpture formed from frozen corpses the more I looked at it.

However, the path continued on to another gate, and I decided to continue on for now. I still wanted to look for the second gear. I would have to return this way to get to the orphanage, and I could grab the torch then. My mind made up, I swallowed hard and forced myself to pass the trees.

There was no sign of Jasper or anyone else. I was starting to think I would never see them again. I was all alone in the world, except for the whispering voices that began as soon as I started walking.

_"Do you ever think about running away from this place?"_

_ "All the time."_

_ "You know what happens to those who try."_

_ "I know."_

_ "Still, sometimes I think it would be worth it."_

_ "Yeah…"_

They were children's voices, and I shivered. They had to be orphans who had once lived here. I didn't like the unsettling implications of the conversation. I walked faster, now wanting to do whatever I could to get out of here. I didn't know how to return to the apartment, but I hoped that getting into the orphanage would be a start. At the very least, it would bring me to Jasper, who seemed to know something about the cult.

I opened the gate at the end of the path and found myself facing a wall of ice. So thick I couldn't see what had been originally behind it, rising up so high that even when I craned my head I couldn't see the tip, it stretched in each direction farther than I could see. The trees here pressed in upon me, especially two massive ones on each side, giving the illusion that I was in a tight space rather than a forest. Each of the four trees seemed to have something caught in the branches, but the limbs were so tangled and choked with ice that I couldn't make out what they were except for the parts hanging down.

To my left, an icy branch stuck out from the frozen tree closest to me. It didn't look like it belonged to the tree, due to the awkward angle at which it rested upon the other branches and how low it extended. From the tree beside it, a rope hung down, frayed from old knots and stained with blood. It looked to me like it had been used as a noose, but that didn't explain the blood. The tree by my right hand had a crimson hilt protruding from the ice, the handle for a dagger. I wondered if it had something to do with the cult's rituals. Beside it, the final tree held the most chilling sight yet. A skeletal arm hung down, its hand seeming to reach out, and although I looked, it was impossible to tell if it was attached to a body or not.

With a _crackling_ sound, tiny lines formed in the ice wall in front of me. I tensed, prepared to run in case ghosts were about to emerge. However, these cracks formed themselves into jagged words, and I took a step back so that I could read the message that had appeared.

_Four travelers walked a path of shadows,  
__each with his own burden to bear.  
__Four travelers walked ahead, in silence  
__until they came to a fork in the road._

_Four travelers looked upon four paths,  
__and terror filled their hearts,  
__for one would let them travel on,  
__and the others would take them to death._

"_I choose forgetfulness," said the first,  
__and he walked his chosen path.  
_"_I choose recursion," said the second,  
__and he walked his chosen path._

"_I choose punishment," said the third,  
__and he walked his chosen path.  
_"_I choose truth," said the fourth,  
__and he walked his chosen path._

_And how did each traveler go on his way?  
__And why did each choice let him walk on?  
__Four travelers walked a path of shadows,  
__each with a path in his heart._

I grimaced when I reached the end. Given where I was, it seemed too obvious to me that either the four objects I could see represented the four paths in the riddle, or the other way around. One of them would help me—I hoped that meant it would lead me to the second gear—and the others would kill me.

"No pressure, Henry," I said out loud, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

The rational part of my mind argued that I should turn around now and search for the gear elsewhere. It couldn't be worth this; even jumping into the lake sounded preferable. Yet something reckless in my heart caused me to read through the words again, trying to put the pieces together. It didn't sound like there was an actual answer to deduce. If each of the travelers had chosen the path that was right for him, than I had to choose the one that was right for me—or something like that.

Rather than calm my worries, it heightened them. I would have much preferred a logic puzzle to solve.

I took a deep breath and surveyed the objects hanging from the trees. Personally, I didn't want any of them. I shook my head. I couldn't think like that. It wasn't the objects themselves that were important, but rather what they represented. My goal was to get the gear, but none of them had anything to do with a gear. I needed the gear to get the torch so that I could get into the orphanage and find Jasper. I wanted to find Jasper because he knew something about what was going on.

I read the lines on the ice again. _Truth._ I needed to follow the path that the fourth traveler had chosen, which represented truth. If I could figure out what that meant, I would be set. None of the objects looked particularly truthful to me.

The tree branch was out. I wanted to escape—ultimately, I wanted to escape my room, but first I had to get out of this forest—and taking the path of the frozen branch felt symbolic of remaining here. I couldn't find a way to attach it to truth, anyway, even though I could come up with ideas for how it matched the other three.

I looked at the dagger. I still thought it had to do with the cult's rituals, and the words implied that there was something dark going on. That could mean it was the one I wanted, since I was sure the cult was tied up in this. On the other hand, what if the travelers were cultists? In that case, the dagger could represent _recursion_, and the traveler returned to the cult. Then again, I supposed the traveler could be a victim, and the dagger went with _punishment._

Unless the bloody noose was for punishment. The skeleton fit the theme quite easily, as well.

I took another deep breath. First I hadn't been able to see any symbols at all, and now they all seemed to work for everything except the one I wanted. "All right," I said out loud, "it's time for process of elimination." _Recursion_ had to be the dagger. No one could go back to being a skeleton or go back to being hanged, and the tree branch felt completely irrelevant.

The forest was not the real world. It was some sort of a twisted illusion that kept ensnaring me. Therefore, it didn't have anything to do with _truth_, so it had to be either _forgetfulness _or _punishment._ While I certainly hated the place, it didn't actively harm me the way the ghosts did, and the ice hadn't come in reaction to me doing something criminal. That meant the tree branch was _forgetfulness._

Either the noose or the skeleton still struck me as being adequate for _punishment,_ but if I had to choose one, I decided I would go with the noose. The skeleton was just a symbol of death, and everyone died eventually. Hanging, on the other hand, was a sign of either execution or suicide. _Punishment._ I nodded. It fit, and at least it made more sense than the tree branch.

Unfortunately, that left me with the skeleton and _truth_. "So that's it, eh?" I asked out loud, stepping towards the tree. "Death is the ultimate truth? Everyone dies in the end? _I'm_ going to die, maybe?"

I didn't like it. I didn't like it one little bit. But I reached out anyway, wrapping my hand around the skeletal fingers. For a second, it seemed like it gripped me back in a bony handshake, but I pushed that thought out of my mind and pulled on the arm as hard as I could. It resisted, held back by the ice, but when I increased my force, a skeleton came topping out of the trees and landed on the ground in a sitting position.

It stared at me, and one of its eyes glinted with a golden gear.

I pried it free and shivered with distaste. Then I put it in my pocket beside the second one and passed through the gate to get the torch.

Far too soon, I found myself facing that twisted tree and almost wished I had remained with the skeleton. But it was too late to stop now. I wrapped my hands around the cold branches and started up. At first, climbing was difficult, but then my body adjusted to the unfamiliar motions and I found myself climbing with more ease. I did my best to focus on nothing besides my hands and feet, trying to ignore the illusory faces glaring at me with every step.

Up and up I went, until I was sure I would find myself above the entire forest by the time I reached the torch. This had to be the highest tree there. Up and up, until my arms burned and my legs ached. Up and up, past all those faces, until I was convinced that they were not screaming in pain, but rather shouting at me to keep the unspoken promise I had made when I took the gear from the skeleton—find out the truth.

_I promise you,_ I said silently, as I reached the torch and reached out to grab it, _I will_.

My hand closed around the cool wood, and I looked past the flickering flames to see if I was indeed as high up as I thought I was. Before I could see, howling erupted from all around me. The branches nearest to me closed around me like clammy hands, and my head pounded with the familiar pain that meant the ghosts were coming. I could hear them, feel the pain starting to run through my body at their approach, and the tree gripped me tighter and tighter, branches rising up to wrap around my throat.

I lashed out with the torch at the branches trying to choke me. To my surprise, it worked—the ice melted and they caught fire, falling apart from around me, but the fire spread to those holding my legs. They gave way, and I fell.

I started to scream at some point during the fall, seeing the terrible faces as I hurtled towards the ground and remembering how long it seemed I had been climbing. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Hitting the ground did not bring as much pain as I had expected, merely a jolt that ran through my whole body. Dazed, I lay there for a moment, and then the pain hit me. Thinking it was a delayed reaction, I huddled in pain until the hands touched me on all sides. I opened my eyes and saw ghosts, the whole multitude of them, piling in upon me as if to crush me.

Panicked by claustrophobia, I lashed out again with the torch. A part of me wondered if I should be amazed that it had remained lit during the fall, but that didn't seem quite so fantastic when I considered that its brother was lit at the bottom of a lake. The flames repelled the ghosts, and they drew away, giving me enough space to get to my feet and start running.

Their pursuit began as soon as I was far enough away that the torch didn't bother them. It kept them a comfortable distance away, but I increased my pace anyway. I would need to use my hands and couldn't risk losing the torch; that meant I would have to leave it at the orphanage on my way through to the lake.

When I finally reached the building, I barely paused. I could still hear them coming after me, so I darted up the steps to the door, slammed the torch into the closest set of brackets, and spun around. The ghosts were zooming towards me, letting out shrieks and howls at the sight of me without the torch, so I raced past them towards the other door. It felt like the entire forest was out to get me. The ground jutted mysteriously in places where it hadn't before, ice had expanded outwards to make the path even narrower, and it seemed like the trees were stepping in front of me as I ran. Stumbling and tripping, I managed to make it to the end of the path. The crimson glow of the ritual room felt almost comforting, as it meant I was only a door away from my goal.

Ignoring the statues, I burst through the door onto the overlook. I ran to the machine and stopped, trying to catch my breath. I knew the ghosts weren't far behind, though, so I pulled the gears out of my pocket and tried to fit them into the mechanism. My fingers were numb from the cold, making me clumsy, and it took several tries before I got the gears to fit snugly together with the rest. I pulled the lever and prayed.

The metal bridge extended in segments, each falling into place with a solid _boom_. As it went, it slowly tilted and turned, until it finally formed a spiraling bridge—only its relatively shallow tilt kept it in bridge territory—that led all the way down to the lake. I stared at it, torn by indecision at how unstable the bridge looked now that it had formed, and a ghostly scream from behind me made up my mind.

With the ghosts following and reaching for me, I ran down the bridge. My feet slammed against the metal, sending me forward even faster than I had intended, but I didn't dare slow down. I held my arms out to keep my balance, aware that any misstep would send me crashing down either into the lake or onto the ice that surrounded it. I slid once and nearly lost my balance, but I managed to keep going until I was at the water's edge.

I risked one look behind me at the ghosts, took a deep breath, and dove into the lake.

The water was cold, and I was still exhausted from climbing the tree and then running. I forced myself to keep moving, afraid that if I stopped, I wouldn't be able to start again. Opening my eyes with difficulty, I adjusted to the icy water and swam towards where I hoped the center of the lake was, looking from side to side. The light from the torch was even more noticeable here, as it was diffused throughout the water, giving it a luminescent appearance. Realizing that it got brighter closer to the torch, I turned myself in the direction where the light was brightest and then swam up for air.

Breaking through to the surface, I treaded water and looked around. To my relief, none of the ghosts had followed me. Rather, they were clustered along the shore, reaching out as if they wished they could pluck me away. I shuddered, filled my lungs with as much air as I could, and plunged beneath the water.

I swam with difficulty, and I felt awkward moving through the water. By the time I reached the torch, my lungs were burning. I quickly grabbed it, holding it at my side as I swam up. The flame sparked and crackled, no more disturbed by being pulled through water than by being submerged in the first place. Swimming was even more awkward now with one hand holding the torch, and black spots darted in front of my eyes. It was a welcome relief to finally reach air again, and I kept my head above water to paddle towards the bridge.

The ghosts kept watching me, empty eyes somehow showing hatred. I watched them, feeling tense, and as soon as I reached the bridge, they lunged for me.

If the bridge had seemed dangerous on the way down, it was nothing compared to how it was now. Waterlogged as I was, it was difficult to move quickly, and my wet shoes meant that I was slipping every other step. I had to go slowly, but the ghosts chasing me reminded me that I couldn't slow down too much. I slipped, my foot falling over the edge, and my heart leaped into my throat as I fell backwards.

I reached out and wrapped my arm around the path, hanging there in desperation. The ghosts had halted, and I glared at them, wondering if they were waiting just to torment me. Then I remembered the effect the other torch had had on them, and I inwardly cursed myself for my stupidity. I could take my time on the bridge, if I could only get up there again.

I strained, trying to pull myself up without tumbling headfirst over the other side. The bridge was far too narrow. At last, I managed to hoist myself up, my grip on the torch so tight that my knuckles were turning white. I crouched there for a moment, trying to steady myself, and then I cautiously made my way back up.

There was no question about it at all. The ascent was far, far worse than the descent had been.

When I finally reached the top and felt solid ground beneath my feet again, I nearly collapsed with joy. I sighed, remembering that I had to continue on, and struggled forward. The ghosts kept their wary distance as I stumbled through the ritual room and down the forest path until I reached the orphanage. Once I was there, I walked to the door and held the torch tightly for a moment, trying to compose myself before seeing what the torches would actually do. At least I was a step closer to finding Jasper; I wanted to throttle him for putting me through that.

I pushed the torch into the other set of brackets and stepped back uncertainly, not sure what was going to happen. The two torches now sat on either side of the door, their flames dancing like crazy and lighting up the ice. Then they went very still for a moment, and the ice began to melt away from the side of the building. As in the subway world, it left without a trace, no water remaining to indicate that it had been there. The ice retreated from the orphanage, from the fence, from the trees—from everything, leaving the forest world the way it had been when I first arrived.

The flames from the torches flares brightly and then dove backwards against the wall, as if blown by a strong wind. Within seconds, the orphanage was on fire.

I stared in shock, hardly able to believe my eyes.

Then I raced towards the door, knocking it backwards into the flames with just a touch. "Jasper!" I peered inside, trying to see any sign of movement. "Jasper!"

There was no response, and I gritted my teeth in indecision. He had to have gone in there. There had been no sign of anyone in the forest, and I was sure he had left the note for me to find. I knew my time to decide what to do was limited. The heat from the flames was intense, causing me to flinch every time it radiated towards me. The fire was spreading rapidly; although the rooms inside still looked intact, I could tell they wouldn't be for long. If I went in there, I might well be signing my own death warrant.

I took a step closer and cupped my hands around my mouth. "JASPER!"

Glaring at no one in particular and thinking up a few choice things that I would say to Jasper when I found him, I shielded my face and ran inside the building.

Once there, I lowered my hands cautiously. The air was thick with smoke, but I still felt fine. I looked around the room I found myself in, trying to see through the smoke and cobwebs to imagine what it must have once been like. I could see abandoned tables and chairs, and then a scrap of paper caught my eye. I walked towards it and picked it up, squinting to make out the words.

_Have you found Alessa yet?  
__How is Walter's progress coming along?  
__Send me a report._

I gripped the paper tightly, a chill running down my spine at the words. I couldn't quite put my finger on what bothered me, except I knew that anything the cult had been involved with would not be good. Somehow, I knew Alessa and Walter were children—children at the orphanage? The names were familiar, and then I remembered that in one of my recent hallucinations, two people had been talking about _Alessa_.

And Walter… that was the name written in blood on my door.

Despite my fear, I felt a slight burst of triumph. I had been right. The cult was somehow involved in my plight. It was connected to Walter, and he had been at least trained by the cult of Silent Hill, if not raised at this very orphanage. I looked around the room desperately, hoping I would find something else. Burning beams fell all around me, but I found myself driven to take my time despite the danger. If the cult had left behind that scrap of paper, they might have left something else as well—maybe even something that could help me.

At last, I found it. In the corner, just barely having escaped a part of the wall that had crumbled beneath the fire's wrath, a tattered, partially-burned book sat. I picked it up eagerly and flipped through it as quickly as I could, searching for a page I could read.

_The Second Sign:  
__And God said,  
__Offer the blood of the Ten Sinners  
__and the White Oil.  
__Be then released from the bonds of the flesh,  
__and gain the Power of Heaven.  
__From the Darkness and Void,  
__bring forth Gloom,  
__and gird thyself with Despair  
__for the Giver of Wisdom._

_The Third Sign:  
__And God said,  
__Return to the Source through sin's Temptation.  
__Under the Watchful eye of the demon,  
__wander alone in the formless Chaos.  
__Only then will the Four Atonements be in alignment._

I stood there with the book, suddenly feeling more scared than I had before. This went beyond just me not being able to get out of my apartment, and dream worlds that were connected to the waking world. This sounded like a ritual, some dark art performed by the cult, and even though I had been expected such a thing, a part of my mind screamed that I myself was in grave danger.

_Why me?_ I wondered, looking down at the verses again. _How could this have any connection to me?_

Even as I stood there in my daze, the orphanage falling to pieces around me as the fire spread, a scream rang out from beyond a burning doorway. I snapped back to reality and ran to it. A plate was embedded in the door, with the word _Source_ carved into it, and as I pulled it free, I wondered distantly what had happened to the _Temptation _placard I had taken from the subway. The doorknob burned my skin when I touched it, but I twisted it open anyway and burst through the door. The smoke beyond was even heavier, and I ran blindly until I reached a horrifying sight.

In front of me was an altar, ablaze with golden flames, and Jasper stood in front of it, screaming and laughing. For a moment, I fooled myself into thinking that the backdrop had cast an aura of flames around him, but then I forced myself to face reality. The flames licked at his clothing and skin, blackening them as if he were a holocaust presented at that altar. What remained of his shirt was in tatters, and the source of his hysterical laughter seemed to be the numbers carved into his chest, which he kept tracing: _17/21._

"Jasper!" I shouted, running forward. My mind was racing. Had he simply got caught in the fire, or had something more diabolical happened? Where had those numbers come from? I reached for him, thinking that I could at least try to put out the fire.

He danced away from me, lifting his arms as if in exultation. "I finally met him!" he screamed, as the altar caught on fire and more flames rushed towards him.

"Who?" I asked, feeling somehow terrified of the answer.

His shrieked response rang throughout the room, shaking the burning orphanage and ringing in my ears as the heat and smoke became too much for me and I collapsed on the ground, aware of a sharp pain in my chest.

"The Devil!"

* * *

_Author's note: You guys think some strange stuff is happening in this story? Hah! Just wait until _next_ week!_


	6. Chapter 6: The Teacher

"_We don't need no education;  
We don't need no thought control.  
No dark sarcasm in the classroom;  
Teachers leave them kids alone."  
_-Pink Floyd, "Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)"

Chapter 6: The Teacher

While I was still caught in memories of smoke, heat, and despair, the voice reached my ears, registering in my half-sleeping brain.

"This is a special news report. In a forest near Silent Hill, the burned corpse of a 30-year-old male was discovered earlier today. The police have ruled it a homicide and are investigating. The numbers '17121' were reportedly carved into the man's body. Due to the marks on the victim, the police are investigating possible links to the Walter Sullivan case 10 years ago."

My eyes opened. They were talking about Jasper; just like Cynthia, he had died in the real world as well. Something about the way they had described the numbers felt off to me, but I was more concerned with the reporter's final statement. It had been ruled a homicide, and they thought there was a connection to the Walter Sullivan case.

_Walter._

The orphan, the cultist, the man whose name was written on my door beneath the ominous warning, had also been a murderer. I wondered if he was the man Joseph Schreiber had been investigating, as he seemed to be the definitive link between the cult and this apartment. Judging by the way the reporter had talked about the markings, carving numbers into the victims had probably been part of the murderer's _modus operandi_. Cynthia and Jasper both fit the case, as did the strange coffin I had found in the forest. I wondered if the cultist buried there had been a victim in the original case.

Thinking about this Walter Sullivan made me feel uncomfortable, so I sat up and rubbed my head for a moment before getting out of bed. I was getting remarkably accustomed to this inexplicable transportation.

I walked over to the radio and stared at it. I didn't remember turning it on. In fact, I thought it had stopped working at the same time my door was chained shut. Nothing else here made any sense, but it disturbed me that my radio had somehow been turned on just so I would learn about Jasper…and the case.

A chime cut through my thoughts, and when it repeated itself, I realized someone was ringing my doorbell. I ran out of the room and towards the door, hoping someone could finally get me out of this. I wasn't sure I could handle any more.

Through the peephole, I saw a white-haired man staring through the peephole. _Frank Sunderland, the superintendent_, I reminded myself after a moment. "Are you in there?" he shouted, ringing the doorbell again. "Can you hear me?"

"Let me out of here!" I shouted, banging on the door. "Help! There's something wrong with this room!"

He stepped back and frowned, and then got out a key. I watched as he tried to unlock the door, thinking with dismay of the chains holding it fast. Nothing I had ever tried was ever able to get them off, but now I found myself scrabbling at them again, trying to free the door from my side so that his key had a chance of working. The chains held, and I returned to looking out the peephole in time to see him put the keys away and frown at the door again.

"That sound…" He shook his head, looking worried. "Yeah, that sound… It's the same one as back then…"

"Back when?" I shouted uselessly, as he walked down the hall. What sound had he heard? It couldn't have been my shouts, or he'd have known that I was trapped. It must have been something he heard back when Joseph was trapped.

_If Joseph is still alive, I need to find him, to find out what he knows._

When I stepped back, I saw that another red note had been shoved underneath my door. I bent down and grabbed it.

_Lately I've been feeling like my life is in serious danger.  
__I've been through a lot in my life,  
__but I've never felt this kind of pure, animal fear.  
__In case something happens to me, I've decided to write down what I've learned  
__for whoever you are that's living on the apartment now.  
__I've been investigating the mass murder that took place 7 years ago  
__in which 10 people were killed in 10 days.  
__They were killed in a variety of ways, but the one thing they had in common  
__was that each corpse had the following numbers, in order of their deaths,  
__carved into them:  
__01121, 02121, 03121,  
__04121, 05121, 06121,  
__07121, 08121, 09121,  
__10121 ...  
__Their killer… His name was...Walter Sullivan.  
__April 4_

I flinched at the sight of the name. If I had had any remaining hopes that what I feared was not true, they were dashed now. I read the note again and thought back to what the news report had said. The spree murder had been ten years ago, but Joseph's note said seven. That meant he had written these pages three years ago.

My heart sank. While I knew that he must have disappeared before I moved into the apartment, I had hoped these notes were current. I wanted to believe that I had an ally out there, somewhere in those other worlds, investigating what was going on. Now, it sounded as though I might never be able to find Joseph. The best I could hope for was that these notes would indeed help—since he had written that he wanted to help me, I trusted they would indeed do so.

Shaking away my lingering disappointment, I took the new page from Joseph to my scrapbook, along with the documents in my pockets—those which I had found in the forest world. Once that was done, I took a quick look around the room and found that both placards were lying on the floor by my bed. I picked them up and frowned at them. _Temptation_ and _Source_… Something about those words seemed very familiar, as if I had just seen them…

I returned to the desk and picked up the book I had found in the orphanage, flipping through to find the legible pages. Once I was there, it didn't take me long to find what I was looking for. "Return to the Source through sin's Temptation," I read out loud. Putting it down, I took the placards to put them in the storage box in the living room, but my thoughts were troubled. This wasn't just about the cult—it was about the very piece of their scripture that I had found. On a whim, I tore the page out of the book and put it in my pocket.

Then I braced myself to venture into the nightmare worlds once again. I didn't know what I would find, and I didn't want to go, but I knew I couldn't sit down and wait for my terrible fate—probably as another victim—creep up on me. The hole in the bathroom was larger still, and more of the wall was broken up. As I walked towards it, the sound of children's voices reached me, and I felt the hair on my arms stand on end. Thinking about the cult-operated orphanage and dreading what I might find next, I climb into the tunnel.

xXx

I found myself lying on a cold floor. I opened my eyes and looked up from the wet concrete to the curving walls on either side of me. I got to my feet and slowly revolved, taking in my staid surroundings. Judging from the walls, the hallway I was in was circular, and I had the inescapable sensation of being trapped in a massive cylinder. I could see doors on the interior wall, thick and wooden, each with a tiny, barred window.

This was some sort of prison.

I rubbed my arms, already cold, and I started to walk down the hall. The building looked clean enough, but there was an empty feeling in the air. It reminded me of the subway station—abandoned as if everyone had simply stayed at home that day. My sense of loneliness was only increased by the dismal thought that if I _did_ meet another person here, they might not be around for long. Both Cynthia and Jasper had been separated from me and murdered.

Before I had time to dwell on the fact that it could easily have been me who was attacked, my head started to hurt. Recognizing the throbbing behind my eyes as a sign that another hallucination was about to occur, I followed the sensation down the hallway, resigned to getting it over with. I found myself approaching one of the cell doors.

_"Get me out of here! Get me OUT of here! HELP!"_

I staggered backwards, feeling the fear in the man's voice as if it was a force that could strike me. None of the other voices had contained such raw terror as his did.

_"He's going to kill me! Get me out of here!"_

Trembling, I leaned against the outer wall and waited for the shouts to fade away. The memory didn't fade away as easily. Had that man been a prisoner? He had feared he was going to be killed; had he been a murder victim—perhaps, even, a victim from the Walter Sullivan case?

Curious, I tried the door, but it wouldn't open. I explored the rest of the area, but I found nothing notable. It was, as I had guess, a circular room, with one set of outer doors that I left alone for the time being. The doors along the interior wall all led to cells, but as the cells did not come to points to meet one another at the center, I assumed there was another room beyond that. The rooms had peepholes high up on the back wall, but I couldn't reach them to see what lay in the center. The cells contained beds and not much else; the lack of anything terrifying did not calm me.

When I had looked in the last cell I could unlock and reached the one I had heard the voice at, I folded my arms and frowned. This place didn't seem right, being this clean. Something told me it should be more sinister, filled with signs of horrors that had occurred. Yet again, I found myself questioning the purpose of these worlds my apartment was leading me to. Who was controlling them, and why?

Footsteps pulled me out of my reverie. I looked up, and saw a man walking down the hall. He was a slender, middle-aged man, with light brown hair and dark eyes. He was dressed in navy blue slacks and a neat white shirt, with a slightly off-center tie the same shade as his pants. When he saw me, he hurried over, a grin splitting his face.

"Wasn't that trial amazing?" he cried.

"I—I didn't see the trial," I stammered, staring at him in bewilderment. What trial was he talking about? Were they bringing a prisoner here now? Was this place still in use?

_Is this man going to be the next victim?_

"You didn't—" He gaped at me as if he couldn't believe his ears, and then he laughed and shook his head. "Well, don't worry about it. DeSalvo has been put away for life; they threw the book at him. Oh, I wish you had seen it. He didn't stand a chance once Schreiber started talking."

"Did you say Schreiber?"

"Yeah! You know, Joseph Schreiber, journalist extraordinaire turned badass detective?" He laughed. "Brilliant man. Genius, really."

"Is he still around?" My heart was pounding. Joseph had been here. There was a chance I could get answers from him after all. "I need to talk to him."

"Right now? It's been so many years; I thought we could go grab a bite for lunch and catch up!"

I stared at him, feeling an unpleasant sort of déjà vu. "Catch up? Are you sure you don't have me confused with someone else? I'm Henry Townshend."

"Come on, you haven't been out of school _that_ long that you don't remember me! I'm George Rosten!" He frowned at me and folded his arms. "Okay, what happened? Did DeSalvo smack you around the head before they got him into custody or something?"

"What? No! I don't even know who this DeSalvo guy _is_!"

The man who called himself George Rosten stepped back, now looking concerned. "Forget lunch and forget Schreiber; if you're suffering from amnesia like this, we need to get you to a hospital to make sure you don't have a concussion."

"NO!" I shouted, even surprising myself with my vehemence. "If I don't find Joseph now, I may never get to talk to him! I need to talk to him; he's the only person that can help me!"

"Why him?"

"Because he's the one who was trapped in my apartment!"

George raised one eyebrow. "Joseph Schreiber was trapped in your apartment?"

In my panic, I hadn't realized how this would sound to anyone else, but it was too late to stop now. "He lived in the apartment before me. Now I'm the one trapped in it."

"I hate to break it to you, but this isn't your apartment…"

"No, it's—" I cut myself off with a sigh. What could I tell him? _This place is actually a supernatural world. I got here through a hole in my bathroom._ "Look, I'm a little confused."

"I'll say!"

"I _am_ having memory problems lately—among other things. I don't know who you are. I don't know how I got here." I swallowed hard and met his gaze as steadily as I could. "All I know is that I _need_ to talk to Joseph Schreiber. After that, I'll go to any hospital you want."

"All right." He patted my shoulder. "Have I ever let you down?"

I honestly didn't know the answer to that question, so I simply looked at him.

"Joseph was still in the courtroom when I left, so we probably should check there first. That means we've got a lot of climbing to do."

He started towards the exterior doors I had noticed, and I hurried after him and caught his arm, confused by what he had said. "Wait, the courtroom is here? Who builds a courtroom on top of a prison?"

George paused by the doors and gave me an odd look. "What are you talking about? This is the courthouse!"

"Then why are there cells?"

"Come on, I know the office cubicles are small, but they're not that bad!" He opened the doors and stepped through.

I followed him out into the stairwell. "This is definitely a prison."

He turned to me with raised eyebrows. "Which of us has amnesia, again? Right, so whose judgment are we going to accept?" He walked to one of the room's two other doors, and tried to open it. It didn't budge, and he shook his head. "Locked. We'll have to go get the key from the basement." He walked to the other door opposite that one and opened it.

As he started down the stairs, I hurried after him. The stairs were curving downward, going in a spiral towards the basement, so I assumed this meant the building was actually shaped like a cylinder, rather than just having a circular room. If he wanted to say this place was a courthouse, I wouldn't argue—not that I necessarily believed it—but this was reminding me way too much of the way Cynthia hadn't seen anything wrong with the abandoned subway.

"Aren't you even a little bit puzzled that the door is locked?" I demanded.

George kept steadily walking down the stairs. "Nope."

"But you just came from upstairs!" I protested. "How did it get locked that quickly?"

"It's one of those doors that only locks on one side."

Frustrated, I glared at the back of his head but couldn't think of a good counter. Instead, I turned my attention to looking at the walls around us. I had expected dank, water-stained walls, with creaking, rusty stairs, but the area we were walking through looked like it had been freshly renovated. The steps were covered in plush, blue carpeting, and the walls were painted white. Every few feet, onyx sconces rested on the interior wall, holding fake candles shaped so that the flames looked almost real. It had a cozy, warm feeling, but it made my skin prickle with unease.

George seemed perfectly comfortable in this building that matched the courthouse he expected. He hummed to himself as the stairs wound further and further down, barely glanced at the doors we passed along the way, and occasionally glanced back at me to make some sort of optimistic comment about how everything would be all right as long as I stuck with him. I tried questioning him on the lack of the people in the building, but he waved it away with another happy excuse.

"Here we are!" he finally declared as he opened a door at the end of the staircase.

Trotting through, he led me into a room with a giant water wheel and a few more stairs leading downwards. This looked more like what I had been expected—rusted machines, water streaks along the walls… A few moths were flying around, and I flinched, momentarily thinking they were the creatures from my vision in the forest. Though the illusion passed, my heart rate refused to slow down. I gave them a wide berth, not wanting them to get near me.

At the bottom of the stairs, George hurried over to a key that was hanging on a hook beside the water wheel. He pulled it off, throwing it into the air once and catching it before turning to me with a look of amused concern. "You all right there?"

With an effort, I stopped flinching and ducking my head every time a moth flew near me. "I'm fine." Hoping to distract him from my apparent insanity, I looked around the room until something caught my gaze. "What's through there?" I asked, pointing to a door on the other side of the water wheel.

"Nothing we're concerned with," he replied easily, starting back up the stairs. "You coming?"

"Yes…" I followed him, but another glance backwards at that door caused me to slow. Something seemed to be telling me that that was where I wanted to go.

"If we don't get to the courtroom, we might miss Schreiber…"

"Sorry, you're right," I said, shaking myself out of my reverie. I hurried after him to the main set of stairs, and we began our climb up. I was convinced something would happen to him soon, so I decided this would be a good time to get some answers and try to piece together my missing memories. "So, uh, you said I knew you from school, right? Are we in the same class?"

Though nothing I had said on the descent had given him pause, he now stopped dead in his tracks, turned around to stare at me for a moment, and then burst out laughing. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was another laugh, and he bent over, his whole body shaking.

I watched him with narrowed eyes, not amused at all.

"Sorry," he choked out, finally straightening up. "Even with your amnesia, I just couldn't believe you asked that. I—" He bit his lip as another smile formed on his face, and then he cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm a teacher, not a student."

"Oh. Do you know Jasper Gein?"

"I don't think so."

"Oh." I frowned as we started climbing the stairs again. George and Jasper both said they knew me from class. On the other hand, Jasper had said it was a current class, while George had sounded like we knew each other in the past. That made me even more disturbed. It wasn't just recent events that I had forgotten, in that case.

He still seemed amused. "Principal Stone will just die when I tell him about this… 'Are we in the same class,' indeed…"

Once we had made it to the top of the staircase, he unlocked the door and led me out onto more stairs. These ones were outside, and it was so cold that for a moment I was afraid we had entered the ice world. But no, although we were surrounded by fog, the world was still as normal as it had been. I shivered and hugged my arms around myself as I made my way up the wrought iron steps that circled the tower. I couldn't see how high it went up, and though I peered over the edge, I couldn't see how high _we_ were up, either. The fog was so thick that my visibility was reduced to a few feet in each direction, and I remembered that Silent Hill was known for its fog.

"Are we in Silent Hill?" I asked.

George, who didn't seem bothered by the temperature, the fog, or the height, didn't pause in his climb as he answered, "Not in the town proper, but in the general area, yep."

"Did you hear about the fire in the forest?"

"What? No."

I noticed we were passing more doors, and I resisted the urge to demand what he thought all of these rooms were for. I had never heard of a courthouse this size. "It just happened—" I realized I had no idea how much time had passed since I found the forest world. For all I knew, these worlds didn't match up in terms of time at all. "—recently," I finally finished. "The orphanage in the forest burned down."

"What? I'd have heard about that!"

The news report hadn't mentioned the orphanage, either. Maybe it had burned in the dream world, but only people were found in the real world. "Well, everyone's more concerned with the murder."

"Someone was murdered?" he asked, not sounding like he was really paying attention anymore. We had reached the roof, and he was looking around. There wasn't a lot to see. A column rose up from the center, with a trough cut around it and a valve handle on the wall. The area we were standing in contained chairs, a large desk, and what looked like podiums. "Doesn't look like Schreiber's here anymore. I wish I could help you, but I have no idea where he'd have gone."

I had been about to tell him the news report about Jasper, but I bit it off with a cry. "You mean _this_ is the courtroom?" Now that I looked more closely, I realized that the bits of furniture I had noticed were arranged in vaguely the right way. I could see where the jury would sit, the witness stand, the judge's desk… "Out here in the open, with all the wind and fog and everything?"

"I think it's quite nice," he said, sounding a bit hurt.

Shaking my head, I walked around the roof, looking for anything at all that might help me—a note saying where Joseph had gone, a hidden camera waiting to see if I believed this was really the courtroom, _anything_—but I found nothing. I turned around and froze.

On the other side of the central column, there was a door. The door was marked with a blood-red circle, with three smaller circles inside. Strange letters and symbols ran around the circumference, and I found myself turning my head to see them all, trying to figure out what it meant. Something about it bothered me…

"George, what is this?" I asked, walking up the steps to reach it. When I tried the handle, it refused to budge, but I didn't move away. I continued looking at the symbol.

"What is—whoa! Get away from there!"

"What's wrong?"

He clattered up the steps behind me and grabbed my arm, trying to pull me away. "That's cult stuff; you don't want to mess with it!"

I yanked my arm free and whirled around to face him. "Cult stuff? Why is there cult stuff here, in a _courthouse_, George?"

With a nervous laugh, he said, "Don't get so worked up. I don't actually know why it's here myself, but—"

"Yes you do." I stared at him as I said it, watching the blood drain from his face. He backed up, not looking at all like the carefree man he had been on the way up here. "This _is_ a prison, isn't it? Was Joseph even here at all?"

"Of course he was!" he protested, and he sounded sincere. He folded his arms. "Why would I make up something like that? Yes, this place used to be a prison, run by the cult from Silent Hill. But now it's a courthouse! Joseph Schreiber was just here this morning, bringing his evidence against Andrew DeSalvo. DeSalvo worked here as a guard, back when it was a prison."

"So he had ties to the cult?" I asked, half to myself.

"I don't think he was actually a member, but he certainly worked for them."

"Then maybe I should talk to him…" I walked away from the door, no longer concerned with what that symbol might mean. Joseph was already gone, but if this man had been imprisoned, I might still be able to find him. I turned to look at George again. "Can you help me find him?"

George didn't look panicked anymore, just confused. "Now you want to talk to DeSalvo? You sure you don't want to go out for lunch? Or to the hospital?"

"DeSalvo," I said firmly.

He sighed. "Well, if we can access the court records, we might be able to find out exactly where he's incarcerated; the trial was too recent for him to have gotten the chair already, after all." He chuckled, then trailed off at my silence. "Err, no guarantees, of course."

"Well, it's the only lead I have, now. Where are these records?"

"They're held in the center of the prison, but we'll have to go to the basement—the room above where we found the key, mind you—in order to climb up there." He frowned. "We might want to power up the water wheel, just in case. Open up the sluice gate, will you?"

"With this valve?" I asked, walking around to the other side of the column.

"Yep. So, what's your interest in DeSalvo, anyway? You don't seem like the type who'd want to chat with him."

"I need to learn more about the cult," I said, reaching the valve. "They're mixed up in this somehow. I don't understand it yet, but it all goes back to that murderer…"

"Murderer?"

My hands on the valve, I glanced over my shoulder at him. "Have you ever heard of the Walter Sullivan case?"

"Walter Sullivan…" George frowned, looking troubled, and then his eyes widened. "Walter Sullivan? Oh, sh—"

Ice crept up from the floor and bled forth from his skin, freezing him into a wide-eyed statue. The valve handle became slick with frost. The column cracked, ice finding its way into every crack and crevice. The white walls of the building turned pale blue as the ice claimed everything in the area, and I was left standing alone amidst the fog.

* * *

_Author's note: I almost forgot to share my good news with you! Another one of my original stories was published yesterday! It's a Christmas romance story about two of Santa's elves. (Yep, about as far from Silent Hill as you can get, unless you count the snow and ice as something they share...) I'm so happy, and I wanted you all to know! :)_


	7. Chapter 7: The Prisoner

"_In the back of the cell,  
__The plug and the cord,  
__Shoulder dislocation,  
__Bruised in isolation…"  
_-Midnight Oil, "Sleep"

Chapter 7: The Prisoner

For a moment, I just stood there, looking at the frozen George Rosten. Even questioning him when I did hadn't really gotten me any answers, and Joseph was even further out of reach. My only hope was that if I could find DeSalvo, he would have answers, but I had to admit that I wasn't very hopeful about my chances. Even if I found out what prison he was at, how would I ever get there?

Still, I couldn't let the opportunity pass without saying I had tried. My hands were still on the cold valve, so I gripped it and twisted with all my might. Despite the frost coating the rusty metal, it turned, squeaking and clanking as the sluice gate lifted. Finally, it could turn no further.

I stepped away and looked at the raised gate. I looked at the empty trough.

_Waterwheel. Ice. This could be problematic._

With a groan, I started to climb back down the steps. I would just have to trust that George had been wrong, and I wouldn't actually need the waterwheel functioning to get to the records.

Two feet away from the roof, my head started to pound and tiny shockwaves of pain ran throughout my body. That had to mean the ghosts were coming back. I didn't dare look into the fog to try to estimate how high up I was again. Just from the number of floors I had seen in this place, I knew I didn't want to fall. Gritting my teeth, I continued forward more cautiously, taking it one frozen step at a time and glancing around before continuing—and a cold hand latched around my ankle.

I screamed as the ghost yanked my leg towards the edge and I lost my balance. Throwing my arms out, I landed on the stairs, my legs hanging over the edge, and I scrabbled desperately for something to hold on to. The grip on my ankle hadn't lessened, and the ghost was now pulling harder, trying to make me lose my precarious clutch on the ice. Twisting my head around, I saw it floating in the fog, malevolence and hate radiating forth from it. It was a male ghost, pale and bald, with streaks of blood running down its face and clothes. For a second, the tower seemed to disappear, and I was back in my room the way it appeared in my nightmare, seeing that same glare.

_Jimmy Stone…_

I had the strangest feeling that there was something about that name that I needed to remember, but I didn't have time to think about it. Stone's ghost was intent on dragging me over the edge, and I could hear shrieks and howls coming through the misty air around us. More ghosts were on their way. One on one, I thought I had a chance, but if they outnumbered me here, I knew I would go plummeting to my death.

"Stone!" I shouted, staring him in the face again and doing my best to ignore the way my entire body hurt. "Jimmy Stone! Why are you attacking me?"

There was no response, but I hadn't really expected one.

"You were a murder victim, weren't you?" Between the nightmare and the variety of ghosts I had seen, the pieces were starting to come together. "You were murdered by Walter Sullivan!"

He had stopped pulling. Now, his fingers were cutting into my leg like razors, and his gaze was burning a hole in my head, but I tried to remain calm. The distant howling was getting louder. If I could talk him down, I had to do so quickly.

"I will avenge you!"

The ghost stared at me. I stared back and silently prayed. For all I knew, Walter Sullivan was already dead, or he was too powerful for me to ever face, or my interpretation of the situation was entirely wrong. I had no idea if I could actually fulfill such a promise. All that mattered, however, was that the ghost believe me.

Jimmy Stone started to laugh. His laugh was high and maniacal, echoing around me and seeming to beat into my head. I wanted nothing more than to clap my hands over my ears, but I forced myself to keep them down, not daring to lose my grip on the steps. It was the most terrible sound I had ever heard, and I thought it would never end. Very slowly, still laughing, the ghost released his hold on my ankle. I could feel blood trickling down into my sock, but I didn't dare move. Then he vanished into the fog, his laughter fading with him.

The moment he disappeared, I pulled myself up onto the steps and got to my feet with difficulty. Then I started running. My leg throbbed, wobbled, and threatened to give way every time it hit, but I refused to slow down. My fingers were bleeding, my whole body ached from having been hanging partway over the side, and the approach of the ghosts still filled my head with pain. If they caught me now, I was dead.

I wasn't sure how I made it to the door leading to the inside stairs. As soon as I opened it and stumbled inside, I collapsed against the wall, letting the door swing shut behind me. Ice had changed the stairs dramatically; the slick, blue coating somehow gave the impression that this was the old, water stained prison I had imagined it to be before meeting George. The supposed offices would undoubtedly look even more like cells. For a moment, I just lay there, keeping my ears pricked for any sound of the ghosts following me inside. Then I sat up and surveyed my injuries. Stone had done quite a job on my ankle, but my fingers fortunately weren't as bad.

Hoping there were actually first-aid supplies back at the room, I looked around for something to use temporarily. Finally, I ripped off part of my shirt sleeve and cleaned off my bloody leg. Once the blood was cleaned from the surrounding skin, it didn't look quite as bad. I tied the cloth around the wounds tightly. That would hopefully last me until I could do something better.

Wiping my hands off on my pants, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. _I can't do this…_ For the first time, I realized that it wasn't just a matter of me having the will to continue forward in the face of all the supernatural obstacles I encountered. I might actually find myself incapable of continuing.

But that time hadn't come yet.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I got to my feet and tested my ankle. It didn't feel great, but it didn't feel like I was going to fall down, either. There was still no sign of the ghosts, but if I remained there, they were sure to turn up eventually. I continued my descent.

xXx

The doors leading to the first basement did not look the way I remembered them. When I had passed them with George, they had been plain and unremarkable, identical to the ones we had come from. Now, however, the ice on the wall around them gave way to polished black wood. Equally divided between the two doors, a crimson eye glared out at me, with words inscribed in blood-like ink beneath it. I took a step closer so I could see what it said.

_Sides mismatched  
__Locks unlocking  
__One or the other  
__Never the same  
__Third floor stable  
__Four parts imprisoned  
__Demon's eye watching_

I frowned at the words for a long time. After a moment I reached into my pocket for the piece of the cult's scripture I had kept with me. As I had suspected, the _"Watchful eye of the demon"_ was referenced in it, but it didn't help me come to any conclusions about what the lines on the door meant. I assumed it was talking about some sort of key—to that door, most likely, as it was marked by the eye—but rather than start searching for the key, I tried the door, just in case.

It was unlocked.

With a smile of triumph at my unexpected luck, I pushed it open and walked through. Inside, I found myself in a hallway. Up ahead, a ladder led up to a floor above me. George had said we would have to climb to reach the records, so I assumed that was my destination. However, there were two other doors in the hall, and I couldn't resist my curiosity.

One door was locked, but the other one opened. Inside, I found myself in a shower room. There was a hole in the ceiling, but I couldn't see what it led to or how to get up there, and that was the only notable thing about the room. Disappointed, I looked around at the frozen room for a moment, then returned to the hall and approached the ladder. It was only partially frozen, so I felt confident about trying to climb it. Putting my feet on the first rung, I started up. As I climbed, my head began to hurt.

_"Come on, we've got to go get those holes dug!" a man shouted. "The engineer said that would be the best way to get rid of the bodies without the other kids noticing! You there, what are you doing?"_

_ "Sorry, sir, I was just taking notes about the planned locations of the holes!"_

_ "Notes? What for?"_

_ "I thought aligning certain holes was the only way to get into the interrogation room, sir!"_

_ "We've got a code, idiot! Align the rooms that have blood-soaked beds, and you can get in!"_

The ladder stretched even higher, but I stopped climbing when I reached the first floor up. I didn't like to dwell on the voices I had heard. It made me even more uncomfortable about being here. This place had been a prison after all, a terrible prison for children, where they were neglected and left to die without anyone caring.

I didn't even want to think about why a prison for children would have an interrogation room. George had said the prison belonged to the cult, and that was all I needed to know.

I looked around, hoping for some sign of where I would have to start looking to find the records of Andrew DeSalvo's trial and sentence. However, an empty desk sitting along one curved wall was the only thing in the room. The circular wall itself was covered with peepholes. I counted them, and then I looked through a few. They looked into the cells on the first floor. That explained the shape of the prison; it had been designed as a panopticon.

Thinking back to how the stairs had changed, I wondered if this would have been a records room if I had seen it before the ice world took over. The thought was disheartening, but not completely. In the previous worlds I had visited, the ice had melted after I bypassed whatever obstacle was in my path. If I did the same here, the room could very well revert to its original state.

I suspected I might have to work with the mysterious verse written on the door, but for the moment I decided to see what else was inside the central column. Returning to the ladder, I climbed up to the next floor, a new headache hitting me along the way.

_"You look excited, Chief!"_

_ "I need to get to the interrogation chamber to deal with that _boy_."_

_ "Can I come? I remember how it goes: you move the rooms by turning the valves on the second and third floors!"_

_ "No, DeSalvo, I need you to stay here to keep an eye on the others."_

_ "Okay, Chief. Hey, Chief?"_

_ "What?"_

_ "Hit him once or twice for me, will you?"_

Shuddering and feeling like I was going to be sick, I took a brief look around at the room without releasing the ladder. I took note of the red valve sticking out from the ice across from me. The room looked identical to the one I had just been in, so I resumed climbing to reach the third and final floor. The headache intensified.

_"Why are you late?"_

_ "Sorry, the doors were locked, and it took me forever to remember how to get to the showers by using the corpse disposal chutes."_

_ "It took you forever? The default alignment of rooms lets you get in that way, and there aren't that many chutes! What were you really doing?"_

_ "Well, the one little punk got on my nerves…"_

_ "That's what I thought."_

To my dismay, the third floor room was also the same as the previous ones. I climbed back down to the first floor of the panopticon chamber, pacing around as I tried to decide what to do. The words on the door had to mean something. For some reason, it thought I needed to find that key. On the other hand, these hallucinations of mine had to serve some purpose besides telling me what sick people the guards at this prison had been. Now that I knew the sort of man DeSalvo was, I better understood why George had been so cheerful about his sentence. Nevertheless, I needed to talk to him, and finding those records was my best bet.

Since the use I would have for the key seemed so out of my reach, I decided I would follow the instructions I had learned from the hallucinations and try to make my way to the interrogation room. If I had understood them correctly, I would need to use the valves to align the three rooms that had holes and bloody beds, then go to the topmost cell—I assumed the others were locked—and pass through to the chamber below.

First, I checked the first floor, looking through each peephole until I located the correct room. Indeed, there was a hole in the floor. Walking backwards to the ladder so that I could fix in my mind the segment of the prison I would need to align the others with, I stood there until I was certain I could remember it, and then I went to the second floor.

Taking a second to review where I wanted the correct room to go, I checked each cell on the second floor and then went to the valve. Experimenting for a moment to ensure that the rooms would turn in the direction I wanted them to, I twisted the valve. It moved surprisingly easily, and within minutes, I had cranked the second room into position over the first. I kept the number of turns I had used in mind, in case I messed something up and had to try this again. Climbing up to the third floor, I repeated the process.

I twisted the valve a final time to push the third room into position, and the whole building shook. Ice receded away from the walls and floor, and I looked around eagerly. I wouldn't have to get to the interrogation room after all.

However, when the ice left, the central chamber remained the same. White-walled and plain, it was virtually unchanged. There was, however, a strange sound that I hadn't heard before—a roaring, rumbling sound somewhere in the distance. I wondered if it was the waterwheel I had activated from up on the roof, but it didn't sound right. Shaking my head, I decided I might as well go to the interrogation room to see if anything there could help me. I went to the ladder and started to climb down, silently thanking any god who might be listening that there were no phantom voices to torment me this time.

By the time I reached the first floor of the observation area, the sound was so loud it sounded like it was right beside me. I looked down, as if the source really would be right there for me to see, and I saw water. Rushing up from below as if being pumped in by the gallon, water was rapidly rising throughout the room below me. I watched it, momentarily transfixed by the unexpected sight, and then the water level reached the room I was in. It sloshed against my shoes, and my heart leaped into my throat. Waiting it out wasn't an option; I didn't trust that it wouldn't fill up the entire room and drown me. I had to get out of there.

Climbing down the ladder as fast as I could, I felt the cold water hit my skin and flinched as it slammed against my wounded leg. My clothes became heavy as water seeped into them, and I remembered swimming in the lake with a twinge of dismay. The fire had dried my clothes then, but that wasn't a memory I wanted to focus on. If the pattern held true, I would soon find that George Rosten had been murdered.

When just my head was above the water, I paused my descent. The water continued to rise, lapping against my chin. I filled my lungs with as much air as I could and then resumed my underwater climb downwards. The sound of the rushing water became muffled as my ears passed beneath the surface, and then I was underwater entirely, at the basement area at last.

It would be faster to swim than to try to walk through water, so I pushed away from the ladder and swam towards the doors. There was a matching eye on this side, I saw, staring at me as I approached. I reached them quickly, to my great relief, and grabbed the handles. I was prepared to use all my strength to pull them open against the water pressure. I knew there was a very good chance that it wouldn't work at all, but I wasn't going to give up without trying.

The doors were locked.

I gripped the handles and felt cold horror suffuse me. It didn't matter if the pressure would render opening the doors impossible or not. They were somehow locked, even though I had gotten into them with no difficulty.

The words that had been written on the outside of the door returned to me. _This_ was what it had meant. If the door was unlocked from the outside, it would be locked from the inside. If I unlocked it from in here, I assumed that meant it would be then locked from the outside. I cursed myself as an idiot. If I had stopped to think about that earlier, if I had gone to find the key, I wouldn't be about to die.

Then I remembered the guard who had been late. The default alignment for the rooms opened a pathway of corpse disposal chutes that led into the shower room. I started swimming towards the ladder as fast as I could. The numbers of times I had turned the rooms on each floor were still in my mind. I could reverse it and get out of here, as long as I didn't drown on the way.

I had never swum so quickly in my life. By the time I reached the first floor of peepholes, my lungs were burning. By the time I reached the second floor, I was having difficulty with my vision and an even greater struggle in keeping myself from falling backwards and floating peacefully away. The water level had only reached the second floor ceiling, so I burst through to the surface and gasped for air.

I wanted to do nothing more than hang onto the ladder there and breathe until I had calmed down, but I knew I didn't have that long. The water wouldn't stop to wait for me.

Climbing all the way up and dashing across the floor to the valve, I slipped on the way and nearly fell. I forced myself to slow down my motions as I turned the valve. I couldn't afford to panic and mess this up. Once I had returned the rooms to their original positions, my shoes were submerged. I made it to the center and didn't bother with the ladder this time. Diving down, I swam into the second floor room and to the valve.

I had expected the water to make it difficult, but it turned as easily as ever. I slid the second floor rooms into _their_ original positions and then swam back up to the surface get a large gulp of breath for the task at hand. For a moment, I treaded water and breathed, wishing I could stay there forever. But even if I did, I now was certain the water would reach the ceiling, and it was better that I simply get out as quickly as I could.

It took all my courage to plunge beneath that water again, but I did so, swimming down to reach the basement again. I had taken a deep breath, intending it to last me until I reached the surface at the top of the chutes. I hoped it would.

The door to the showers opened easily, as the shower room was also flooded. Besides the water surging in from below, all of the showerheads and faucets had somehow turned on as well, creating strange currents and eddies that struck me as I swam towards the hole in the ceiling. It narrowed into a tube, harder to get through than the hole in my bathroom, but I didn't let myself dwell on that fact. It was dark, and the rough sides that scraped against my arms were stained and grimy, but I kept my gaze fixed upwards, not wanting my thoughts to drift to what these chutes had been originally used for.

They did anyway.

_Bodies_. I was brushing up against walls that had been carved out so that the cult could dispose of corpses when the child prisoners died from neglect and abuse. Guards had also passed through this space, not caring that the dead used it first. From the twisted voices I had heard in my hallucinations, I could almost imagine that they felt some malicious glee at the action. Now I wished I had gone to DeSalvo's trial. It would have been good to see justice strike down a man who had thrived on injustice for so long.

Now I was here, like those children. They had gone down, and I was going up, arms and legs moving frantically to push myself higher. If I had miscalculated and didn't have enough breath, I would be even closer to them. My body would fall down these chutes, down to the shower room… Would I be like Cynthia and Jasper, found dead in the basement of the courthouse with numbers carved into me? Or would I be like Joseph, a man who simply disappeared from his apartment without a trace?

After far too long, my head broke the surface of the water, and I pulled myself up the remaining distance onto the cell floor, gulping gratefully for breath. Twice along the way, I had passed through underwater rooms, so I knew I was on the third floor. I opened the cell door and stepped out. The circular chamber was still dry, but I knew it wouldn't remain so for long. It occurred to me that I could have thought things over in my head to figure out exactly how these areas were filling and calculate how long I had, but I didn't plan to waste that much time.

I needed to find that key. I thought back to the words that had been written on the door. They were fuzzy, but in general my memory was quite good, barring the amnesia problem, of course. From what I remembered, the key would be split into four parts, "imprisoned" on the third floor. That had to mean I should be looking in the cells.

Running from door to door, I began trying cells, entering every unlocked one I found. They no longer were the clean, abandoned office cubicles of the courthouse. Now they were grimy cells, with blood and other stains marking them as testament to the things that had gone on there. Each held a bed and a tiny table, along with a tiny pot I assumed had been meant for bodily functions, though now it was nearly unrecognizable. In the first cell I entered, I saw something metal hanging from a hook on the wall, but a headache struck me so fiercely that I halted in my tracks.

_"They're going to punish you for escaping the cell, you know," the voice of a little girl whispered._

_ "I know," a little boy replied, "but I had to try. I saw the death chamber. It's true, all of it's true!"_

I felt very cold. Death chamber? Was that the same as the interrogation room? I felt it had to be, and now I felt even more reluctant to continue on with my plan. I didn't want to see this place. Then again, it was the only plan I had.

The shard of metal was red, and the sharp edge nearly cut me when I took it. I could see already that it was one fourth of a puzzle that would form a red eye to perfectly match the one on the doors. I had never seen a key like that before, but now that I thought about it, I realized that the eye had been indented slightly, as if something could be placed there.

Pocketing it, I left the cell and continued. Before long, I found another unlocked door.

_"Why aren't you eating, kid?" DeSalvo's voice snarled._

_ "Because I know what it is."_

_ "Oh? And what is it?"_

_ "It's meat from the corpses! Meat from the kids you've killed in that death chamber!"_

Feeling ill, I rubbed my head and walked towards the table. Taking the red shard from the top of it, I put it in my pocket with the other one. I hoped the cultists responsible for this place were all dead. I hoped DeSalvo had gotten the death penalty. I hoped at least some of the children from this place had been saved.

If Walter Sullivan had been kept here as a child, I pitied him.

The next cell was unlocked, and I could see a metal fragment lying on top of the bed, but I hardly dared to enter. I didn't want to know any more about this place. But I had to. If I didn't, I would drown. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself forward.

_"An escape?"_

_ "Don't worry, Chief, he won't get far. Haha, look what he did!"_

_ "Did he really think rolling up the blanket like that would make us think he was sleeping there?"_

_ DeSalvo just laughed in response, and heavy footsteps led into the squeaking clank as the cell door opened and closed._

I dashed to the bed and grabbed the piece of the key. Putting it with the others, I continued on, taking deep breaths to steady myself. The floor was wet now, as water began to trickle in from the cells it had reached. I only had to endure one more of these. When I opened the next unlocked door and saw the red metal glimmering from the center of the floor, I gritted my teeth and strode towards it.

_"No!" It was the little boy's voice. "Get away from me!"_

_ The only response was the same laugh as before, and then the harsh _smack_ of flesh striking flesh. The boy cried out, and a second blow followed the first._

_ "I hate you!" the boy cried. "Someday…someday I'm going to kill you!"_

_ "Oh, is little Walter going to kill me?" DeSalvo asked mockingly._

_ The sound repeated itself again, and again, and still more times, far too many times. The boy did not say anything more; his screams and sobs mixed with the sounds of the guard beating him, until it became all too much and my own vision turned red as if with blood._

Within seconds, I could see again, but I was shaking. It was over, but the memory refused to fade as easily. It had been so horrible, and so vivid, as if I had actually been there, helplessly listening as the guard hurt the boy over and over. I hated this place. I hated DeSalvo.

And he had called the boy Walter.

"Can't think about that now," I whispered, forcing myself to pick up the final metal shard. "Got to get out of here. You can think about that later. For now, just get out of here!"

I lay the four pieces out on the cell's table, thankful that the water hadn't risen that high yet. Studying them for a moment, I moved them around and then quickly assembled them into the shape of the demonic eye. The edges fit together perfectly, clicking into place so that it was a solid piece of metal I then lifted up, the grooves only faintly visible when I looked closely. I put it in my pocket and ran out of the cell.

Trudging through water that had not quite reached my knees yet, I made my way back to the cell with the hole leading down to the shower room. I was terrified, because I had no idea how I could possibly hold my breath long enough to do what I had to do.

I dove back down, swimming as fast as I could. I felt oddly rested after having taken a break from swimming, and that gave me courage. Part of me insisted that holding my breath for as long as I intended to was humanly impossible, but I ignored that part. This time, I didn't think about the bodies going through the chutes. All I dared focus on was the task at hand.

When I reached the shower room, I opened the door and swam out into the hall. Barely pausing, I headed for the ladder and went up until I reached the third floor of the central chamber. To my vast relief, there was still a tiny air pocket at the top. I reached it and took a deep breath before returning to the valve. Now moving the rooms for the third time, it seemed almost like an easy task to put the room with the blood-stained bed in its spot above the matching room on the first floor.

I swam up again, taking a final gulp of breath before the water filled the room entirely, and then I dove for the second floor. There, I once again turned the valve, until I had all three rooms in alignment. Now I just had to get out.

Diving again and going as deep as was necessary, I made it to the doors in record time. I pulled the metal eye from my pocket with shaking fingers and slammed it into the matching indentation. The eye glowed bright red, making me flinch and turn away. The doors rumbled, and I looked back in time to see them changing just slightly. The grains of the wood seemed to twist and turn, following some sort of path that left the doors looking almost, but not quite, identical to the way they had before. The eye stopped glowing and fell out.

I caught it as it floated down through the water, pocketing it just in case I would need it again. Then I grabbed the door handle, saw to my relief that it really was unlocked now, and pulled with all my strength.

They opened easily, as the spiral stairway was now filled with water as well.

I burst through and started to swim upward, not allowing myself to think about what I was doing or worry about whether there would be enough air or not. All I had to do was keep moving. My arms had to part the water, my legs had to kick, and my body had to keep moving forward and upward.

When I reached the door leading into the stairwell, I felt relief hit me like a lightning strike. The next door led to the outside. I opened it as quickly as I could and staggered outward into blessed air. The fog had never been so welcome.

Standing there, catching my breath, I took a moment to look around. Water was cascading out of cracks in the water prison's walls below me. It gave it the appearance of a strange, cylindrical waterfall, or perhaps the stream of water that would come from a spigot. It looked beautiful and deadly, and I wondered how much water pressure the prison could take before it began to crumble.

With that in mind, I raced up the stairs, driven by adrenaline-induced speed. When I reached the third floor doors, I threw them open and was knocked backwards by the rush of water that struck me. Catching myself against the wall just in time, I ran inside. The water was about up to my waist, but now that it was rushing out of the open doors, I waited for a moment for it to lower. It didn't, but forced itself up a tiny bit, and I realized that the water rushing _in_ was faster than the water rushing _out._

After having manipulated the rooms so many times now, the location of the cell I needed was fixed in my mind. Lifting my feet up so that I could swim across the partially-filled room, I reached the cell and opened it, diving down into the hole. This would be the most dangerous part yet, as I had no idea what might await me in the rooms below.

When I made it through the chutes and reached the kitchen, all the things I had heard were flashing through my mind again. The kitchen itself was nondescript, looking like an old, rundown kitchen that could have been anywhere. The door I propelled myself towards, however…it would lead to the death chamber.

There was a placard on the door. With a feeling of dread, I lifted it off. It read _Watchfulness_, and I thought again about the scripture I had read. Then I opened the door.

Inside, I saw implements of torture. Sawblades, knives, and all manner of horrific devices littered the room, rusty and stained with blood. Clouds of blood filled the water, obscuring my vision, but as I swam forward, filled with dread, I saw the reason why. In the center of the room, with _18/21_ carved viciously into his stomach, the corpse of a fat man floated.

I knew instinctively that this was Andrew DeSalvo.

_Not George?_ I wondered in confusion, my last hazy thought before unconsciousness swept me up.


	8. Chapter 8: Hero

"_Where have all the good men gone  
and where are all the gods?  
Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?"  
_-Bonnie Tyler, "Holding Out for a Hero"_  
_

Chapter 8: Hero

I woke up gasping for breath, and it was several minutes before my mind fully caught up to the fact that I wasn't about to drown anymore. My eyes snapped open, and I sat up carefully, feeling dizzy and having a distinct sense that something was still wrong. I was lying on my bed, and that had to mean I was in my apartment, but…

The walls around me were red, like in the nightmare, but more terrible. They appeared to be bleeding, dripping with blood that pooled on the floor and crept towards my bed. I could see it everywhere I looked. I could _smell_ it. I squeezed my eyes shut, heart pounding.

_No, no, no!_ I thought desperately, telling myself that it had all been my imagination, and that it would be gone when I opened my eyes. I dared to open one eye, and then both of them.

The room was back to normal.

"Now I'm going crazy, on top of everything else," I muttered under my breath as I got out of bed, looking around warily at the room for anything out of the ordinary.

I tried to tell myself that it was a good thing the walls weren't bleeding. I added a few encouraging possibilities, such as how I could easily have been in a partial dream-state when I saw that. However, no matter what I told myself, I couldn't shake the feeling that the most likely possibility was that I was losing my mind. If I didn't get out of this mess and back to some semblance of reality soon…

Wearily, I grabbed the placard lying on my bed and left the bedroom. Veering in the wrong direction, I nearly walked into the wall at the end of the hall. I blinked at it in confusion. For just a moment, I'd thought there was something there… Shaking my head, I turned around and headed out to the living room. Putting the placard in the box with the others, I walked over to check the door. No one was outside, but there was a new scrap of red paper sticking into the room. I took it, hoping again that I would somehow be able to find Joseph.

_I've found something that's extremely effective against the ghosts.  
__It saved my life.  
__It was stuck into the huge rock in the woods near the orphanage.  
__It's a sword blade with a hand-made, triangle-shaped wooden handle that has some  
__kind of spell written on it.  
__As a weapon, it's heavy and hard to carry. But somehow it seems to change in  
__response to the ghost-victims' power.  
__Strike when the sword is energized!  
__If you don't reduce their power, your attack will be repelled.  
__As far as I know, there are only 5 swords in existence with that kind of power.  
__It's extremely valuable.  
__July 23_

I took the page to the scrapbook, reading over it several times as I went, to make sure that I had it memorized. So, there were swords that could be used against the ghosts. That would certainly help me out. My encounters with them so far had been extremely dangerous, and I wouldn't keep on being so lucky forever. I didn't know if it would really help my chances a lot—I was utterly useless with weapons and imagined that attempting to fight with a sword would only result in me stabbing myself—but it was better than nothing.

Thinking about the ghosts reminded me that I was injured. I searched the apartment in vain for any sort of first aid kit, finally getting a black shirt out of my closet—it was the only thing _in_ the closet; I really needed to get to the store as soon as things were back to normal. Since my current shirt was wet, torn, spotted with blood, and generally ravaged from the events it had been through with me, I decided to just salvage what I could of it for bandages and wear the new one. Tearing the old shirt into strips, I used the best piece to replace the tattered cloth around my ankle and laid the rest out on the desk to dry.

"I hope the next person I meet is a doctor or nurse," I sighed, as I gathered my nerves to face whatever horrors awaited me.

I entered the bathroom and stopped dead. Then I blinked and rubbed a hand over my face. For a moment, I could have sworn that the shower was filled with bloody water like that which I had seen in the water prison. It was, however, perfectly normal.

The hole, on the other hand, was even larger and rounder. It gave me the chills. Would another person die in the world on the other side? George had somehow escaped that fate, but another man had died in his place. 18/21—that meant the nineteenth would be next. What would happen when we reached the twenty-first?

I didn't intend to find out. Taking a deep breath, I climbed into the hole.

xXx

When I opened my eyes, I was flat on my face in an alleyway. For once, it felt like the journey had roughed me up a bit, as every bone in my body ached as I got to my feet. Shaking my head, it occurred to me that the momentary amnesia while traveling through the tunnel could actually be quite dangerous. There was, however, nothing I could think of to do about it.

Buildings were on either side of me, rising up at least four or five stories. After I walked for a while, I found myself in a parking lot. Everything here was gray and dingy, but it was familiar. Like the subway station, this was not a place in Silent Hill but in my own South Ashfield. Also like the subway, there was an eerie feeling of emptiness in the air, that dreamlike quality of abandonment. There were homes here, and businesses, but no one here to mind them. The parked cars were silent, and I couldn't even tell how anyone could drive to this parking lot in the first place. It didn't seem to connect to anything except for a narrow set of stairs.

With no other choice, I walked down the steps. The air was cold, and I shivered. My new shirt was slightly thicker than the last one, but it wasn't enough. The stairs wound down and down, and I began to imagine that I heard sounds. At first I thought it was distant sobbing, and then I amended my guess to laughter. After a while, I had to admit privately to myself that the disembodied noises sounded like nothing more than some sort of monkey.

I finally reached another parking lot, and my head starting pounding. A scream met my ears, and I looked up. A man was plummeting out of the sky, as if he had been shoved from a building up above. He twisted, his face turning towards me for a second, and I realized it was the neighbor who lived across from me. I yelled in alarm, and looked around wildly for something I could do to help—and he vanished.

_Just another hallucination?_

I didn't like this at all. Looking around, I realized that the parking lot I was standing in was on the roof of a building I could normally see from my apartment. Even more disconcerted, I walked to the edge, wondering if I could see my own room from here. Was there some way I could reach it? And if I could, did that mean that these strange locations and my apartment really were in one connected dream world?

"It's like some sort of alternate reality…"

"Alternate reality? What, are you writing a book now?"

I jumped and whirled around to see George Rosten looking at me with an amused grin. "You're alive!" I gasped. "And you're here!"

His grin widened. "Well, at least you remember me this time… Anyway, I couldn't find—"

"What happened back at the prison?" I demanded. This was a chance to find out what the others saw when the ice world took over. "We were on the roof, but we were separated! How did it happen?"

"Slow down there! What's gotten into you? I mean, sure, we split up when we reached the _courtroom_, but you agreed that it was a good idea!"

I stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, why did I decide to subject myself to this again? Okay, see, you wanted to find Joseph Schreiber, but then you got it into your head that you wanted to talk to DeSalvo, too. We decided to search for each of them separately. Remember? Did you have any luck, by the way?"

"That's not how it happened!" I cried, alarmed. "We were going to find the prison records, together, but then the ice… It froze everything, even you! It…"

He was regarding me with a smile that grew more skeptical with every word I said, until I finally fell silent. "So, did you start seeing spontaneous frost cover _before_ or _after_ you lost your memory?"

"After, but that—you think I'm crazy!" I snapped.

George held his hands up. "Hey, you have to admit, it sounds a little weird."

"Then tell me why there are no other people here!"

"The fact that most people don't hang out on rooftop parking lots in the early hours of the morning does _not_ prove that the courthouse and I turned to ice yesterday."

"Fine," I said, throwing my hands up in the air. He apparently had a different version of memories in his mind. "Who knows, maybe I _am_ crazy. Some weird stuff has been happening…"

He raised his eyebrows. "You just spouted out all that about magical ice like it was perfectly normal; do I want to know what your idea of 'weird stuff' is?"

I thought about the blood pouring out of the walls and the shower and shook my head. "No…you don't. It's just been strange, like…breaks in reality…or something."

To my surprise, he didn't seem at all disconcerted by my statement. He just laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "Don't worry about a thing! Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?"

I had assumed that it was either something not in my memory or just the dream world forcing our path together, but since he was asking me, I guessed, "You found Joseph?"

"Nah, no leads."

"What, then?"

He paced away from me as he spoke. "Well, when I realized I couldn't find Schreiber anywhere, it got me to thinking that I really needed to help you. So I went and talked to our good friend Principal Stone and told him all about it. Well, he had a wonderful laugh and told me not to take to you the hospital because, well, you know. He left it entirely in my hands! So never fear, the expert is here; it's time you tried what will undoubtedly be the solution to all your problems!"

I stared at him, curious and a little alarmed as he whirled around to face me again.

"Alcohol!"

"…What?"

George grinned. "Come on, we're going to the bar." He headed across the lot towards a door in the side of the connected building.

I hurried after him. "Hey," I asked, as he opened the door and walked into a narrow hallway, "did you say Principal Stone? You don't mean Jimmy Stone, do you?"

"You remember him?" He turned around to face me and started walking backwards down the hall. "That's great! Maybe you're getting better already!"

"No, it's just that I thought he was dead—a murder victim actually." I hesitated for a moment, since George was looking at me like I was insane, and then I decided to continue anyway. "There are these ghosts that chase me sometimes. He's one of them. I addressed his ghost by name, and he responded."

He burst out laughing. "Oh man, I know you two didn't always see eye to eye, but you're telling me that not only did you hallucinate that he was murdered, but that his ghost is haunting you? That is _sick_."

"It's not like that!" I snapped, but he had reached the door at the end of the hall and turned to open it, laughing.

We walked into the room beyond, and I looked around, now completely confused. Shelves along the walls were filled with clocks and watches, but it otherwise looked like a normal apartment. George began looking around the shelves, occasionally picking up an item to look behind it. When I asked what he was doing, he just waved a hand at the other door in the room and muttered something about needing a key.

"Can we…just walk into someone's home like this?" I asked, looking around nervously. I didn't really expect there were many people in this dream world, but it still seemed impolite.

"How else are we going to get to the bar? Besides, this is a shop. Help me find the key, will you?" He gestured towards the other rooms.

Something about the place made my skin prickle, and I was reluctant to wander around on my own. "The owner won't mind us just coming in and rifling through his stuff to find the key?" I asked uncertainly.

His response was to laugh, shake his head disbelievingly, and go back to searching.

I glared at the back of his head. I was starting to resent his reactions to my questions. Since he would probably start laughing even more if I asked him to explain why this was acceptable, I simply began my own search, looking around the apartment. I found many clocks, but nothing to explain why I felt so uneasy about the place until I reached what looked like a side workroom. In the center of the room sat a small table, with tools and pieces of a disassembled clock scattered across it. A stool was alongside it.

And on the other side of the table, the ghost of an elderly man in a neat, though bloodstained suit lay pinned to the floor with a sword.

_A ghost, outside of the ice world?_ I wondered in alarm, studying the look of pain on its spectral features with bewilderment.

My mouth opened in a shout for George, but my cry went unsaid. The struggling, silently choking ghost had disappeared as if it had never been there at all. The sword remained, and a small key lay on the floor, but the pinned phantom—which I had almost felt sorry for, for a second—was gone. Still feeling uncomfortable, I picked up the key and regarded the sword.

It had to be one of the special swords that Joseph had written about. The hilt and blade matched his description, and I knew I hadn't imagined that ghost. I reached out slowly, afraid that the moment my fingers neared the sword, it too would vanish.

"What's keeping you?" George shouted, just as my hand closed around a solid, very real hilt.

"I found the key!" I called back, feeling dazed.

I heard his footsteps as he came up behind me, and I turned around to hand him the key, still holding the sword in my other hand.

He smirked and scratched his head. "What, now you want to spar?" He snatched up a screwdriver from the table and waved it around dramatically.

"No, I just want this because…" I trailed off, knowing he wouldn't believe me if I told him I thought it was a magic implement for fighting ghosts. "I'll need a way to carry it…"

He shrugged and put the screwdriver back. "Well, the sporting goods store is right along the way; we'll fix you up with something there!"

As I followed him through more hallways, down more stairs, and through rooms with strange, bland designs that didn't seem to bother him one bit, I started trying to figure out the architecture of the place. I didn't know Ashfield's layout _very_ well, since I spent a good deal of my time out of town or in my apartment, but I knew it well enough to know that something was definitely wrong. I kept hearing distant cries that reminded me of monkeys, too, but no matter where I looked, I saw no other living creatures besides the two of us.

"Here we are!" George proclaimed, after leading me down yet another flight of stairs, up another hall, and through a musty, grimy room before opening a door into a sporting goods store.

I looked around at the vacant store, noting racks of equipment in addition to the piles of balls, bats, and other supplies that filled the corners. Some basketballs lay forgotten, and a giant hammer sat in the corner next to a couple of brooms. It was a very small store, and it struck me as being sad and lonely for some reason. I didn't see anything that would help me. George, however, headed straight towards a display of clothing and dug around in it. There were two other doors in the room, and I tried both of them. One was locked, and the other opened onto another set of stairs.

"Here you go!" George tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention and then handed me a long, leather sheath attached to a belt. "Try it on?"

Doing so, I found that it not only fit me well, but that it proved to be the perfect fit for the sword, as well. "Why would this be here?"

"Fencing equipment," he said with a shrug.

"I don't think—"

"Come on, we got what we need, so now we should keep going."

"But there's no one here?" I protested. "Shouldn't we pay for this stuff?"

"We can do that later!" he called, already through the unlocked door and partway down the steps.

"Wait!" I shouted, running after him. "Why?"

He just laughed and kept trotting along, down stairs that wound further and further down. He managed to stay a few feet ahead of me until he opened the door at the bottom and walked into an abandoned, lifeless pet shop, at which point he stopped and stretched.

Annoyed, I grabbed him by the arm, twisting him around to face me. "George! I want answers!"

He stepped away from me and spread his arms out. "What makes you think I have answers to give you?"

I scowled at him. "Because you're acting like all this is perfectly normal. I started out in an alley between huge buildings, and after going down some stairs, I found myself in a parking lot on top of a roof! Then you showed up and didn't think it was strange at all. We went through a door that led to the apartment of a watchmaker, because apparently that's the only path. We've been going down stairs, through buildings that seem to serve no purpose except to connect everything together—George, cities aren't built like this! The sporting goods store was literally in our path, we got a sheath that perfectly fits the sword I found and didn't have to pay for it, and now we've taken a detour to the pet store, all to get to the bar! And _look_ at this place! It's empty, absolutely empty! What happened to the animals, George? Did the owner take them all home for the night? Why aren't there any people walking around? Why are the buildings connected like this? What the hell is going on around here?"

"Calm down," he said, holding his hands out. "When you get upset, you really get going, don't you? I'm getting worried about you; I hadn't realized it was this bad… Look, let's just get to the bar, so we can sit down and have some drinks, and then I'll fill you in on everything you've forgotten. All right?"

I took a deep breath, my frustration and anger fading. "Fine. But my other questions…"

He started down through the shelves of pet supplies, pushing aside toys and bags of food as if he was looking for something. "I don't know why it's so empty here. I heard Garland fell on some bad times, so maybe he had a clearance sale."

"That doesn't—"

"And I don't know why you're complaining about the city so much. You never minded before. You said it made it exciting!" He lifted up a plastic food dish and turned it over. A key fell out, and he caught it out of the air.

I couldn't imagine there was a time when I believed that having to dig around for keys in the pet shop just to visit the bar was fun, but I had yelled at George too much already to feel good about calling him a liar. Instead, I just followed him as he marched back out the door we had come. Could my memories of the city's layout really be wrong? I gave my head a quick shake to knock my thoughts back into focus. It didn't matter what I had or had not forgotten. I _knew_ this wasn't the real world.

We made it back to the sporting goods store, where George promptly used his new key to unlock the other door. It led outside, and I looked around, seeing that the walkway we were on led to more downward staircases. Although he continued along his way as if he didn't have a care in the world, I walked over to the railing and looked down to see where the stairs ended. Apparently, we were heading for another parking lot.

_This isn't a city_, I mused to myself, as I followed more slowly. _This is an amalgamation of city concepts, as if someone who had only heard about cities was asked to describe one._

That surprised me. Other than having its exits blocked, the subway had been built exactly like the real South Ashfield Station. While I had never been to the forest before, nothing about it had seemed particularly out of place. Even the strange panopticon had a logical structure and layout. I couldn't think of how the city really was arranged, but I knew it couldn't be like this.

It was as if whoever or whatever had constructed these places—and considering the victims that wound up in them, I was beginning to develop a dark suspicion of who that might be—had been very familiar with the first three locations, but not so much this one. His memories of those places would have been intact, almost perfect, but here it was just a scattering of remembered places, each attached to the next because he didn't have the knowledge of what to fill in the gaps with.

In the parking lot, I took a moment to look up, realizing that I had descended an incredible amount from the alleyway I had opened my eyes in. Hoping I would find answers soon enough, and wondering if the ice would come to haunt me again, I followed George around the side of one of the massive building-structures, down a new alley. The door at the end led to an elevator.

As soon as I stepped inside, my head started pounding. I gritted my teeth and turned to face the wall. George already thought I was cracking up. He didn't need to know about my headaches, and especially not about the hallucinations. Still, it was all I could do not to react at the sound of the voice that echoed in my head, because it belonged to that neighbor, Braintree.

_"Are you the kid he was talkin' about? You live in that apartment too, huh? Say, you look a lot like a little punk that I once caught sneakin' around there… Do you know somethin' about what's goin' on? Hey! Hey you! Stop!"_

His shouts ran over the sound of footsteps clattering away, and then it was over. I wondered who he had been talking to, but trying to think about that made me feel sick. Something was wrong here. I didn't like it at all.

The elevator came to a stop, and I looked around. I couldn't actually see a door. George, who fortunately hadn't noticed anything, walked over to the wall, and I realized that there was something there after all—a red ladder going down.

"You can't be serious."

"How else are we going to get to the bar?" he protested, shaking his head at me and starting to climb the ladder.

I walked over and stared down after him. This was closer to the way things had been in the prison. Still, I knew there were no other paths. Whether I liked the situation or not, I felt I had to follow this world through to its end. I climbed down the ladder and found myself in a hallway. George was already walking towards a new ladder leading up at the other end.

"Now wait a minute!" I shouted, my resolution to be patient with him disintegrating entirely. "Elevators? Ladders? What's _wrong_ with this place?"

"Oh, for God's sake, just calm down," he snapped, beginning his climb. "We're almost there."

Seething the entire time and hating the place even more with every step I took, I followed him up the ladder, through another alley, across yet another parking lot with monkey sounds still coming from seemingly nowhere, and into another building. I dared to hope that might be the end of it, but we had reached another set of stairs. If this were a normal city, we would have been in the bowels of the Earth after this many descents. Passing through more rooms that seemed out of place, including one with a tree inexplicably growing in the center, increasing my conviction that this place had been cobbled together from random city memories, we went down more and more stairs until I was certain that I couldn't take it anymore and that I would have to grab George and shake him until he answered my questions.

Before I reached that point, we reached a door that led into a much cleaner and nicer-looking room. It was dark, like the majority of the others, but the wood floors and walls looked in much better condition. The door on the other side of the room had a keypad on the wall beside it. There was a rusted, broken down jukebox against one wall, a pool table set up a few feet away, and to my vast relief, a polished wooden bar.

"Have a seat," George said, walking behind the bar. He grabbed two glasses, and plunked them down, folding his arms and surveying the selection of beverages.

I perched myself on one of the stools, not feeling safe enough to relax. "The bartender isn't here, either? Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"Nope." He glanced back at me. "But since you keep harping on this point, please satisfy my curiosity—what do _you_ think is going on?"

I took a deep breath, wondering what I should say, and I finally settled on the truth. "We're in some sort of alternate reality. This looks like a place from the real world, but it isn't, really. My apartment is like that; it's still connected to the rest of the building, but since it's only the room that's here, I can't get out and no one can get in. We can't even communicate across the barrier. And there are these places like it… This isn't the only one… These…other worlds…they aren't normal places, but people keep winding up here. It's almost like a dream world…but things that happen here affect the real world, too. It's got something to do with that cult, the Order. They have a hand in everything, and that murderer is linked to them somehow. Everything—me being trapped in my room, these mysterious worlds, that killer striking again despite supposedly being dead—it somehow all ties back to them."

Somewhere around my explanation about my apartment, he had found an acceptable bottle of alcohol, and by the time I reached the dream world explanation, he had replaced our glasses with much larger glasses. He started to pour, and when I reached the end, he filled both glasses to the top.

"You finished?" he asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the bar.

"For now."

"Okay." He nodded towards the glass closest to me. "Drink up. I think you need it."

I narrowed my eyes. "George, you promised that once we got here, you would start explaining things."

"I will, I will! I just think you could use a good drink to prepare you."

I eyed the glass with no intention of picking it up. "How can we just walk in here and grab drinks from behind the bar? The bartender isn't here, and I'm pretty sure he isn't going to show up."

"What, stealing is against the rules of your dream worlds?" He started to laugh, but cut himself off quickly at my glare. He grabbed his own glass and took a drink, then shook his head. "Fine, I guess that's as good a place to start as any. The bartender would never begrudge you a few free drinks, just like Garland won't mind you leaving with that sheath. In fact, no one here, or over in Silent Hill, or maybe even in some of the other surroundings areas, would say no to you."

I gaped at him. "Why not?" I asked, feeling almost frightened of what the answer might be.

He took a deep breath. "About ten years ago—"

My stomach lurched. It was that time frame again.

"—there was a murderer on the loose. Spree killer. Horrible fellow."

_Cult connections,_ I added silently.

"One day, he attacked two children who were out playing. They were twins, Billy and Miriam Locane. He had an axe, and the kids were in an isolated area. It should have been bad, really bad. But it wasn't. Do you know why? Because someone _was_ around, passing through just in time to see what was happening. A lot of people might have  
kept on walking, but not him. He leaped in the way, shoving the kids to safety. He shouted for help and held off the murderer until the police could arrive and catch the guy. He saved their lives. That man was a hero.

"That man was you."

My jaw dropped. "What? That can't—are you sure—I—" I cut off sharply, because the room was changing. The drinks on the table froze, and the bar became cold as ice crept out from the wood. It spread around, like glassy blue paint spread by an invisible paintbrush. "George!" I shouted, as it touched him, his skin turning blue and then faintly translucent as he was rooted to the spot.

"Not again," I groaned, putting my head in my hands. What was I going to do now? The next door was probably locked, and I didn't even know where I would go. The world spun around me. _Not again…_


	9. Chapter 9: Family

"_Our safe hearts feeling dangerous;  
Missing truth frozen in lies  
Is your family just a memory?  
Once again, hell frozen rain falls down…"  
_-Akira Yamaoka, "Hell Frozen Rain"

Chapter 9: Family

The first thing I was aware of was the sound of the phone ringing, and I realized I was back in Room 302. I opened my eyes slowly, and I saw blood dripping from the walls. I quickly shut them and took deep breaths until I calmed down. I touched the sword still hanging at my side for reassurance. If those ghosts came, I'd be ready for them. When I looked again, everything was back to normal. I wondered if it had just been the lingering trace of some forgotten nightmare. I sat up and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"_Put the hammer to the oak._"

There was a _click_ on the other end, and I was once again left holding a phone that couldn't connect to anything because the cord had been cut. I hung up slowly, wondering what that was all about.

I left the room and heard voices coming from out in the hall. I hurried over to the door, hoping someone had found a way to help me. Looking through the peephole, I saw Frank Sunderland shaking his head at the door. Eileen Galvin was standing beside him, looking worried.

"Something's blocking the door from the inside," the superintendent was saying.

"It's chained shut!" I shouted, in the faint hope that he would hear me. I grabbed the chains and tried to pull them down, but they wouldn't budge. Even wrapping my arms around them and trying to use my body weight and gravity to help didn't do a thing.

"Is this like what happened to Joseph?" Eileen asked.

I stopped attacking the door.

"Yeah…everyone thought he was crazy, that he just didn't want to come out… Then he disappeared… There's something wrong with this whole building…maybe the whole town. I think we're all in a lot of danger…"

"Don't say that," she whispered. "You're scaring me…"

The superintendent bent down, going out of my line of sight. After a moment, he straightened up with a sigh. "Well, anyway, I just slipped a note under his door. Don't worry about it too much. There are a lot of strange things in this world, especially around here."

"You're talking about Silent Hill, aren't you?"

_A note!_ I stepped away from the door, feeling delighted. He had left a note for me; there was finally a way I could communicate with the outside. While he and Eileen discussed rumors about Silent Hill, and the fact that the superintendent's son had gone there and never returned, I bent down and picked up the note. It didn't look right. It was stained with blood.

I unfolded it and found to my dismay that it was completely unreadable. Blood had covered it, obscuring whatever he might have written on it. There was no doubt in my mind that if I tried to write a note and stick it out into the hallway, the same thing would happen. Apparently, Joseph's notes only reached me because we were both in the other world. I slumped against the door, feeling depressed. I could hear these people, but that couldn't help me at all. They had no idea what was going on here. Just because it had happened once before, just because they knew there was something wrong with Silent Hill, just because—

"—and to think, now my other son is trapped in Room 302. At this rate, I'll be the only surviving member of my family!"

I cut myself off in mid-thought and turned back to the peephole. I must have heard that wrong. Frank was pacing back and forth in front of the door, shaking his head.

"I didn't know he was your son," Eileen said, sounding as surprised as I felt.

"Yeah… That's why I gotta do something… I gotta find a way to save him…" He paced off, and Eileen looked at the door for a moment longer before following.

I stepped away from the door and stared at it. Frank Sunderland had just said he was my father. That was impossible. My amnesia couldn't possibly be that bad. If he was my father, why wasn't _my_ last name Sunderland? Why wasn't he more upset about me being trapped in here? Why did I pay standard rent? More importantly, I knew he couldn't be my father, because my father was—I frowned. This was something I should be able to remember.

I made a quick search of my apartment. It seemed strangely empty. I opened drawers and found nothing; I looked through the closet in vain. Why weren't there any photos of my family? Why did so many things suddenly seem suspicious and unfamiliar?

_What else might I have forgotten?_

I returned to the door, deciding that I would stay there and keep watch. Frank had to walk by again soon. Then I could study him and try to find family resemblance or anything else familiar. When I looked through the peephole, however, my breath caught. Across the rows of handprints, bloody words had been written.

_BETTER CHECK ON YOUR NEIGHBOR SOON!_

At the same time, I saw Eileen go walking down the hallway, so I knew she was fine, for now at least. I turned away, no longer planning to wait for Frank. It didn't matter what I had forgotten. I couldn't delay any longer. Eileen was going to be one of the victims.

When I entered the bathroom, I didn't dare look at the shower to see if it was filled with blood. I just climbed through the hole.

xXx

The bar looked just as I had left it, with the exception that George was gone. I looked through the entire room, checking behind the bar and under the pool table for good measure, but there was no sign of him, frozen or otherwise. For the first time, I wondered if the ice somehow split us off into two realities. To him, would it appear that I had vanished? Would he have an alternate set of memories, like his account of how we had gotten separated at the Water Prison?

This time, we didn't even have a goal that I could continue to follow. He had just wanted to get to the bar with me, so that we could discuss my amnesia.

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, I went back to the bar stool and sat down. It was freezing, but I needed a moment to think things through. I had forgotten more of my past than I had realized at first. I didn't remember my friends or even my family. The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that my memories started at the same time that I had been trapped in my room; everything earlier than that was a blank slate masked by hazy assumptions. I recognized places in South Ashfield and I remembered things about Silent Hill, but somehow I couldn't form any concrete memories. I had to find George. He knew enough about me that he could tell me what I had forgotten. He seemed to know a lot of things—or at least he claimed to.

According to George, I was a hero to the town, because I had saved two children from being murdered. Something about that didn't sound right to me. It wasn't just that I had no recollection of it happening, but also that when he had told the story, and I had heard the names, something deep inside of me said that they were from that murder case, victims of the same murderer haunting me now. Yet he said they were alive.

He also said Jimmy Stone was alive, and yet I _knew_ that Stone was one of the ghosts haunting me, the one from my nightmare.

He also thought this was the real world.

I got up from the bar stool slowly, having a sudden hunch that George would not be murdered this time, either. The intended victim was Richard Braintree, even though I had only seen him here in a vision. If that was the case, than George was someone who traversed these worlds without being a victim, a trait that as far as I knew, he shared with only two other people—myself and Joseph Schreiber. There had to be a reason for that. Something told me he wasn't being entirely honest, and I intended to find out what he knew.

For now, there was no way to go except forward.

I made my way over to the other door in the room, and I saw there was a keypad beside it. However, the coming of the ice had smashed it, and it looked like it would never be functional again. Giving the broken keys and twisted screen a nervous look, I tentatively tried the door. It opened, as if the destruction had also destroyed the lock.

Walking through, I found myself outside again. A bridge crossed through the air away from the bar, but I couldn't see where it led because of the fog. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. It hadn't been foggy before. I knew I was a long way up, so I inched my way across the ice, sure that at any moment, it would become as slippery as ice should be and send my plummeting to my doom.

Partway across, when I had ventured deep enough into the fog that I could see neither the bar nor my destination, a scream rang out from somewhere above me. I froze in place, my heart pounding. That was the same scream I had heard upon first finding this building world. It had been followed by a vision of Richard Braintree falling into the parking lot. My head felt fine, however, so this was no hallucination. Such a scream of fear and pain could only mean that the murderer was a step ahead of me yet again.

I increased my pace just slightly, pushing ahead until I reached a doorway and the slight cessation of the fog. It was enough that I could see I was on a platform, with nowhere to go. I was in some sort of hollow building, walls on all sides for as high up as I could see, but no floor.

There was a lever beside me, untouched by the ice, but when I pulled it, nothing happened. Looking closer, I saw grooves in the wall as well, climbing up along the walls. I frowned. Their orientation would be right for staircases or ramps, but if such things had once been here, they had been removed. Getting as close to the edge as I could manage, I squinted upwards, trying to see further. Up at the very top, I thought I could see the edge of something protruding, something metal. I looked again towards the useless lever, and my heart sank. This was another puzzle, but no clues had been left this time.

_"Put the hammer to the oak."_

My heart skipped a beat. I had seen a tree in here. Now that I thought about it, I had seen a hammer, too. This was what the phone call had been about.

I turned and ran back into the bar, heading to the door I had followed George through. The hammer I remembered had been in the sporting goods store, just one of many objects I had seen. I left the bar behind and raced up the icy steps, remembering how frustrated I had been during the descent. If only I had known then that I would need something else from the sporting goods store; if only George had told me about it, just like how he told me where to go to access the records in the water prison. Unfortunately, he might not have even anticipated the need to go further into this world. After all, he didn't realize there was anything strange going on.

At the chamber at the top of the stairs, I paused, seeing the tree. The first time, I had dismissed it as simply another thing about this world that made no sense, just the idea of a tree getting meshed with the ideas of the city buildings in the formation of this world. It was an oak tree, thick and tall, stretching up to the ceiling and filling most of the room. Unlike the trees from the forest world, it was untouched by the ice. The ice covered the floor around it, but then stopped just short of touching the trunk. The branches were thick, with hearty leaves and acorns on them, but something about it didn't look quite right to me.

A headache struck me, and I stumbled backwards against the rush of images. They were disconnected, gone in a flash, striking me as if they were unfolding in front of my eyes. _George laughed and stepped away, looking like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The chains dropped as the door of Room 302 swung slowly open. Eileen sat at a dining room table and smiled. Frank opened a book and pointed to something on the page. Cynthia sat down on my couch and winked. A shadowy figure faded into nothing. The ghosts' forms twisted as they disappeared. Jasper stood in a doorway. George held a strange book. Cynthia lay on a bed. Eileen walked down the sidewalk._

With the last image still emblazoned on my mind, I stared at the tree, wondering what the visions meant. Until now, every hallucination had been something believable—either something that had happened in the past, or something that was happening in some alternate reality. But what were these supposed to be? Were they things I had forgotten from my past? That didn't explain the image of Room 302 freeing me, unless Joseph had actually escaped. Were they images of the future? That was impossible, too, because Cynthia and Jasper were both dead.

A cold feeling filled me. What if these visions meant nothing after all? What if all of my attempts to attach meaning to them were nothing more than my own mind grasping at straws rather than admit that I was going insane?

"Don't think about things like that," I lectured myself firmly. I marched out of the room without a backward glance. I still had a long climb and walk ahead of me before I would reach the sporting goods store.

I was fine until I reached the lift. As soon as the elevator started moving upwards, an unearthly shriek rang out all around me, and burning pinpricks exploded throughout my body. I looked around wildly, because I was trapped on the lift until it reached its destination. I could see them coming, ghostly hands appearing in the walls around me, followed by arms, and then by glaring, hate-filled faces.

"What do you want from me?" I shouted, grabbing the hilt of my sword with no idea of what I would do with it. More of them were appearing now, and their features were becoming more distinct. To my horror, I saw Jasper and DeSalvo among them. Were all of the victims doomed to haunt this place as ghosts? I looked up desperately. The lift still had a ways to go; it was as if the ice was slowing it down.

It was Jimmy Stone's ghost who answered, pulling free of the wall as he did in my nightmare and floating closer until he was only inches away. A gasp of pain escaped me, and my clutch on the hilt weakened as my knees wobbled. I tried to focus my mind on the situation at hand, blinking rapidly against the spots clouding my vision and thoughts.

"We know what you plan," he hissed, his voice a hoarse whisper that seemed to echo around in my skull. "We know you will…give in…"

"Give in? Give in to what?" I demanded through gritted teeth. With an effort, I forced myself to remove my hand from the sword hilt and lift my hands into the air, hoping to placate them with my appearance of peace.

They were on me in an instant, a mass of cold, unearthly fingers clawing at me, some digging around for soft points into which they could embed their nails, others clasping at my throat. With every move they made, another vibration of pain ran through me. I fought, straining to get free so that I could grab my sword again. It had been a mistake to try to make peace. Apparently their violent deaths had so twisted their minds that they could not conceive of an alliance with the living, nor even explain their actions except in riddles.

But they had me overpowered, and I felt like I was being pulled down into a cold, dark place of despair, as they crowded around me and began to murmur amongst themselves.

At last there was a _thunk_ as the lift reached the top and came to a stop. I struggled forward blindly, trying to move in spite of the weight of the ghosts clinging to me. My eyes were shut and I felt like I was on the brink of death, but I forced my feet forward. _They can't kill me_, I told myself, shaking one arm free and having it immediately trapped again. _They're dead._ Jerking myself forward, I managed to lose whichever ghost had been trying to strangle me. _There's nothing to fear._ I could almost imagine that the pain seemed a little less. With one less ghost holding onto me, the next step was a little easier. _I can do this._

Somehow, I made it free. Despite my thoughts, I scarcely believed it when I found myself walking through the door that led away from the lift, alone again. I turned back and saw that the ghosts were fading, though their eyes were the last things to go—staring, glaring, hating…

"This is going to be a long day," I muttered, turning away from the fading specters and limping to the parking lot.

After what felt like eternity, I made it up the stairs and back to the sporting goods store. Once there, I stopped to catch my breath, my eyes going to the hammer in the corner. Seeing it now, I couldn't imagine how I had dismissed it as just another sports item my first time through. This was not the sort of thing that I could picture being used for any sort of game. It was a single piece of stone carved into the shape of a hammer, with strange symbols cut into the base. The top was oddly thin compared to the rest, though still thick in its own right, and only the clearly-deliberate rounding of the edges convinced me that it really was a hammer, and not just a thick axe that had gone dull.

When I finally felt rested enough, I walked over and picked it up. Despite its weight, I found it easy enough to carry, and I noted grimly that if the ghosts trapped me again, I would not waste time on words when I had this at my disposal. That thought buoyed my spirit as I retraced my steps, although it still took a few moments for me to set my nerve after I reached the elevator. Clutching the hammer as tightly as I could, I went inside and began my descent.

The ghosts did not trouble me the entire time, almost disappointing me, since a small part of my mind was anxious for revenge. There was no sign of them the entire return journey, and I was still puzzling over that fact when I reached the room with the tree.

For a moment I just stood, looking at the tree. As strong as it looked, something about it struck me as being sick, as if a tiny rot had infected it, or as if its roots had never developed properly. I didn't know enough about trees to say. Taking a deep breath, I hefted the hammer over my shoulder and slammed it into the trunk as hard as I could.

The reverberations from the blow ran through my arms into my whole body, knocking me backwards. The hammer dropped from my hands and hit the ground, smashing into pieces. I sat upon the smooth ice, somewhat stunned, still shaking from the blow, and aware of an odd ringing in my ears. I shook my head several times, trying to clear it, and then I realized that it wasn't ringing at all. It was…

_"Noooooo!"_

I cried out, looking wildly from side to side, but the scream had no discernible source. It was echoing around in my mind like another hallucination, a cry that would not cease, filled with so much anguish and horror that I found myself jumping to my feet, wanting to run from it. Upon rising, I saw the ice disappearing, sinking into the gray walls of the buildings even as everything grew darker and colder due to storm clouds gathering up above.

Thunder growled and lightning flashed, a bolt striking just feet in front of me, bringing fire to destroy the tree. I turned and ran, racing back in the direction of the bar, clattering down all of the stairs and wondering what was going to happen this time. Rain poured down, soaking me, and the wind that picked up sounded so similar to the howling of the ghosts that I began to run even faster, until my foot caught on a step and I flew forward, tumbling down in a descent that seemed to batter every inch of my body.

I finally reached the bar, stumbling the rest of the way once I got up from my fall. Once there, I didn't give myself time to rest, knowing that if I delayed, I would almost certainly doom the next victim. If I hurried, I just might be able to make it in time.

The fog around the bridge was cold and oppressive, but when I reached the end and pulled the lever, I heard the unmistakable hum of machinery in motion. Squinting upwards through the rain, I watched as a sheet of metal shot downwards from the top, riding the grooves in the wall, until it reached the first corner. There it stopped, shifting, and segments that had been lying flat against one another rose up into the shape of steps. The end twisted and made its way down the next wall.

So it continued until it reached me, and I raced up them as quickly as my feet could carry me. It was a long, long way up, and my body still ached from the various beatings I had been taking in this place. I kept climbing, looking up from time to time to see how much I had left to go, while the storm raged around me. I wondered if I would eventually reach the same height as the area I had entered the world at had been.

My heart sank when I saw that the door at the top of the stairs was marked with a placard. I pulled it free, reading the inscription _Chaos._ I nodded in grim recognition. The last part of the scripture.

With a feeling of foreboding, I opened the door and walked inside. I was in an apartment room, not dissimilar to my own. This one had been decorated very differently however. There was a tea set on one of the shelves, and for some reason, there was a chair in the center of the—a sudden burst of splitting pain caused me to cry out and clutch my head.

_An agonized scream filled my ears, and through my barely-spread fingers, I could make out Richard Braintree sitting in the chair. Sparks flew from the restraints that bound his wrists to the arms of the chair, and he twitched and jerked, blood pouring from his nose and from cuts in his forehead. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see, but I could still smell the frying flesh and hear his choked words and drawn out cries._

_"Kid?" his voice forced out, the same voice that had called upon the superintendent to investigate my room. "That's no kid!" With each word, he grew less intelligible, but then his voice strengthened, as if he felt what he was trying to say was vital. "That's the…11121…man!"_

The vision faded, and my head cleared, but I was left shaking. 11121, the numbers on the coffin. Except that wasn't right. That was what Joseph had said and how the news described the numbers on the victims, but I had seen the numbers. 11/21, the coffin. 16/21, Cynthia. It wasn't a code; it was a count. 21…

_The 21 Sacraments…_

A hand clapped on my shoulder, and I screamed, whirling around.

"Man, you've got to stop running off like that!" George said, laughing. "Why on Earth did you want to come _here_?"

I looked around. The chair was mercifully empty. The room seemed almost normal, when I considered it in the context of this world. "Here?"

"Where they executed Braintree, all those years ago? Gives me the creeps."

My mouth went dry. "Braintree… Richard Braintree…here?"

He scratched his head. "Yeah, had to be twenty years ago, at least. Maybe a few more."

"That's impossible," I whispered. "He was alive just a few days ago! He was from my apartment building; he lived…" I ran to the window and felt my throat constrict. "George, that's my apartment, right over there! And there, that's my neighbor Eileen's! I know Richard lived here; he _can't _have died years ago!"

"What kind of crazy amnesia have you _got_?" he exclaimed. "Stone's alive, but you think he's dead; Braintree and that other murderer are dead, but you think they're alive…"

"The cult's murderer died; it's just that he's back," I said distantly, still staring out the window. Was there some way I could get there from here? Would I still be in this other world if I stood in the hallway of South Ashfield Heights?

"We really need to continue our chat," George said. "Whenever you're ready…"

I heard his footsteps leave the room, and I decided I might as well follow him. Maybe he'd give me answers for once. I turned around and screamed.

Braintree's corpse sat in the chair, slumped over. 19/21 was carved into his forehead.

"George, come here!" I yelled, falling to my knees, but the world was already spinning and darkening. "George!"


	10. Chapter 10: Eileen

"_Everything is wrong  
__This is not my home, is it?  
__Do I know your face?  
__Does my mind wish to forget?"  
_-Akira Yamaoka, "Hell Frozen Rain"

Chapter 10: Eileen

When I woke up, I nearly fell out of bed. I felt dizzy and there was a ringing in my ears. For a moment, the room appeared to be visibly rusted and bloodstained, but it faded into normalcy after a moment. I made it to my feet and grabbed the _Chaos_ placard so that I could put it in the box with the other ones.

My radio was crackling in the living room, and as I mechanically went through the motions to store the plaque, it didn't surprise me at all that it had come on to let me hear the news about Braintree.

"Looks like another one, captain," the voice on the radio said. "1…9…121…on his head? It's just like that case from ten years ago…"

"Yeah, that Walter Sullivan case…"

"But Sullivan's dead; everyone knows that."

"Must be a crazy copycat."

_You keep getting the numbers wrong,_ I thought irritably at whoever was on the radio. I looked into the box at my collection of placards, hoping I would not soon have one to represent Eileen's death. With that in mind, I pulled out my scripture scrap.

_The Third Sign:  
__And God said,  
__Return to the Source through sin's Temptation.  
__Under the Watchful eye of the demon,  
__wander alone in the formless Chaos.  
__Only then will the Four Atonements be in alignment._

It didn't look like there was anything left for the remaining two victims. There had to be more of the scripture than what I had found, or the ritual would be the 19 Sacraments, and I wouldn't have to worry about Eileen. As it was, these "four atonements" were now in alignment. That didn't sound good, and it made me even more anxious to get to the bottom of this.

First, I went over to the hole in the wall and looked through into Eileen's apartment. She was lying on her bed, not moving. My breath caught at the thought that I was already too late. Then I saw just the slightest bit of motion as she breathed, and I relaxed. She was still alive. I could still make it in time to save her.

Without further delay, I ran into the bathroom, kept my eyes averted from the shower, and crawled into the tunnel.

xXx

My first impression of the new world was _red._ I was lying face down on some soft, red material that had the color of blood and a strange consistency that was hard to place. It wasn't carpet, but it wasn't any other flooring material, either. It seemed wet, without being slippery. Further along, I could see places where it was absent, revealing a rusty, grate-like floor beneath. When I stood up, I saw that the walls were also red, with an oddly fleshy appearance, as if I had been swallowed by some monstrous creature.

There was also a strange sense of familiarity to it, which puzzled and disturbed me until I saw that a door close to my right was labeled _301._ This was what my apartment building looked like in the mind of a madman.

For a moment, I was paralyzed by my surroundings, but then I remembered that for once I was in a position to find the next victim and warn her. _Better check on your neighbor soon…_ For some reason, the killer had given me a clue. Could it be that he wanted me to save Eileen Galvin? But no, that didn't make any sense.

I ran down the hall, a dull ache in the back of my head, noticing that the blood-colored surroundings vanished when I reached my own door. Here, the floor and walls were pristine, white, as normal as if this had been the real world. I could see the phantom image of a little boy, knocking on the door, but he faded when I approached. A shiver went down my spine, and I kept running.

When I reached the door to Room 303, I hesitated for a moment. What would I tell Eileen? What if she was like the others and saw only the real world here? Still, I had to try to warn her. Even if she didn't believe me, I could do my best to make sure we weren't separated. I lifted my hand and knocked. "Eileen!" I shouted, when there was no answer. I tried the door, but it was locked.

I prepared to knock again, but an inexplicable feeling of dread suffused me, and I turned to look down the hallway. Someone was coming. I knew they were, if not in reality then in a vision, for my head was pounding. My stomach dropped. Something bad was going to happen; every fiber of my being told me so. I took a deep breath, going very still when I saw someone turn the corner and head my way. Wearing a casual smirk that grew with each slow, deliberate step, the dead had come to find me, but in the form of one of the living rather than as a ghost.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Cynthia asked, arching one eyebrow when she reached me.

I was aware that my eyes were bulging, but I couldn't seem to form words. Alive? Not a ghost? The ambulance had taken her from the subway station in the real world. Had they been in time to save her after all? Was the killer aware that he had failed?

She was dressed the same as when we had met in the subway, and there was no sign of her injuries. The numbers her attacker had carved into her had been deep enough to scar, but I could see that the skin of her breast was smooth and clear.

Cynthia put her hands on her hips and leaned towards me. "Enjoying the view?"

"No n-numbers?" I stammered, looking into her face. I was aware that I sounded like an idiot, but my mind was still trying to catch up. "What… How… D-do you remember the subway? Who attacked you? W-was it…_him_?"

She frowned, her playful demeanor vanishing. "Attacked? What are you talking about?"

"At the subway station! I thought you were dead! But now…" I looked her up and down, unable to believe it. "There's not a mark on you!"

She stepped closer to me and put her hands on my arms. "So that's the game, is it?" She winked. "Want to go somewhere private to check me over for injuries?"

"This isn't a game!" I snapped, pulling away from her. She was alive, and she didn't remember what had happened? Maybe I really was going crazy. No. No, I couldn't have imagined all of that. "Cynthia, at the subway station, we got separated, and a man attacked you. You called me for help, remember?" I hesitated. "Well, you might have called me for help before the attack. That part's a little fuzzy…"

"Are you all right?"

I took a deep breath. No, I wasn't all right, but if I brought up my amnesia now, she wouldn't help me. "Look, I can't explain how I know this, but a serial killer is either here, or on his way. He's going to attack Eileen, the woman who lives in this apartment. I think she's in there, but her door's locked and she's not answering."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, waving a dismissive hand, "but you need to stop dreaming up wild fantasies and go somewhere to have some _real_ fun."

"This is not a wild fantasy! I need to get inside that room to warn Eileen!" I looked around wildly. "The super's apartment. Maybe we can find the keys there!"

"We? You want me to help you break into another woman's apartment?"

"No, I—" I slumped, not knowing what to do.

"Come on," she said, putting her arm around my shoulders. "You need to get some fresh air."

I allowed her to guide me down the hallway, unable to work up the energy to do anything else. At least she would have to take me to the first floor if she intended for us to go outside—not that I believed we'd be able to leave any more than we had been able to leave the subway station—and that would take us closer to Frank Sunderland's apartment. I wanted to scream while pointing and the walls and floor, and demand to know how she could look at all this and think it was normal. I knew, however, that she would react the way George always had. Somehow, this was normal to her.

_What if I'm the only one who sees this?_ I worried in a moment of panic. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. _No. Joseph saw it, too._

We reached the stairs, and my head started pounding. I tensed, preparing myself for the vision that was coming. Without warning, fear struck me with such intensity that I found myself choking, unable to breathe. I waved away Cynthia's frantic questions without knowing why, and my legs sprang into motion almost of their own power. The panic rising up inside of me was blinding, and I charged down the stairs at a frightening rate, taking them two at a time and then going faster. My mind was clouded by a sense of being hunted, cornered, in more danger than I had ever been before… Run, run, I just had to keep moving and get away from that spot…

I came back to myself on the second floor landing, bent over with my hands on my knees, panting for breath. My heart rate gradually slowed, and the last vestiges of panic faded. That left me feeling dazed, and I blinked around at the gruesome walls, trying to remember exactly what had happened.

A hand touched my shoulder, and I jumped away in alarm. Turning around, I saw Cynthia looking at me with a furrowed brow.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't know," I admitted. My skin was prickling with a cold sweat, and I still felt a little woozy. Nevertheless, I smiled, not wanting her to question me further. "It was just a passing moment; I'm fine now."

She furrowed her brow and walked past me. "Great. Now our dates are getting disrupted by psychotic episodes."

A number of angry responses rose up in me, but I squashed them and joined her in walking down the next set of stairs. "I'm sorry, Cynthia."

"I bet."

"What were our good, uh, dates like?"

She glanced at me sideways. "Not as bad as this one."

"You do remember meeting me in the subway station, right?" I asked, worrying that if she didn't remember the attack, she didn't remember my amnesia, either.

"Of course," she said with a laugh.

"So you remember my problem?"

"Problem? Singular?"

I looked over and frowned at her, but she only smirked and patted me on the arm. We reached the first floor, and she set off away from me towards the building's exit. I followed after a moment's pause. As much as I wanted to get the keys from the superintendent's room, I also wanted to see how she would explain away the fact that the doors wouldn't open.

Her slender hands closed around the door handles, but then she stopped and looked at me over her shoulder. "What's wrong? You're coming with me, aren't you?"

I folded my arms and leaned against the wall, not in the mood to argue any further. _Go on. Try it._

She shook her head and opened the doors. A gust of cold air struck me, and I felt my eyes widening. She had _opened the doors_. Numbly, I made my way to her side and looked out. I saw the familiar trees that grew alongside the building, the brick walls of other sections, and the road that ran in front of it. Squinting across the street, since the entire area was shrouded by fog, I could see actual buildings and streets. It wasn't the building world out there.

_The real world._ The wind blowing through my hair had never felt so good. I leaned towards the doorway, trying to breathe in fresh air to remember what it was like. After so long of being trapped in my apartment and this nightmare, escape was so close that I could just about taste it.

"Well, come on," Cynthia said, walking outside.

I watched her go, her body swaying with each step. She didn't disappear, didn't get pushed back. Ice didn't swoop in to destroy the moment. She was standing outside, smiling at me, and when I reached forward, I found that I could put my own hand outside, as well. It seemed too good to be true. When I looked into her dark eyes, I found myself reeling with thoughts of a brighter future. I would not have to struggle through this horror story that had ensnared me. I would leave now, escape the nightmare, and be with Cynthia. She would help me remember everything I had forgotten. We'd be together, always. I started towards her.

_Better check on your neighbor soon!_

The memory of the bloody letters hit me like an anvil, and I froze in mid-step, still inside the apartment building. This wasn't just my nightmare anymore. Unless it was all just my imagination…but no, the ghastly walls of this otherworldly South Ashfield Heights were still around me. This was real.

_You were always too late to save the other victims,_ part of my mind argued, but I drew away from the door, horrified that I had almost left Eileen to her fate.

Something was rising up inside of me again. Not quite the panic that had struck me on the stairs, but a different sort of fear. What was going on here? Was I making a mistake? What if this was my only chance to escape? And as an undercurrent to all those thoughts was a dark suspicion, a sudden concern that something was very wrong. There was something I wasn't seeing; my perception was somehow off…

"What's wrong with you?" Cynthia snapped, stomping back inside and slamming the doors closed.

I flinched as they sealed me inside this place once again. "Eileen Galvin," I whispered as an explanation, and then I turned and ran in the direction of the superintendent's room, throwing open the doors leading into the hall.

Cynthia hurried after me. "Of all the women in the world, you're ditching me for _her_?"

"It's not like that," I protested, reaching Room 105. "The murderer is going to get her!" I twisted the doorknob of the room and found to my dismay that it was locked. I jiggled it frantically and kicked the bottom of the door in frustration.

When I turned around, Cynthia was staring at me levelly. "Of course it's locked. What did you _expect_?"

My shoulders slumped. "A mysterious puzzle to help me get in, maybe…"

"What?"

"I don't know!" I cried, putting my head in my hands. "He's going to kill her… Even if I can't get in, he can… He might be there already…"

She let out a long sigh, and I looked up to see that her expression had softened. "There _is _no murderer… don't you see that?"

"But there is. He's dead, but he's still killing people!"

She stared at me for a moment and then shook her head. "All right, fine. If I help you get into Eileen's apartment, and it turns out that she's fine and there's no murderer, will you stop this nonsense and come with me?"

I nodded.

"Fine." Cynthia reached down into her shirt and pulled out a key.

My eyes widened again. First, I wasn't entirely sure how she had stored a key in there, and second, I didn't know why she would have it in the first place. "Is that Eileen's key?" I blurted hopefully.

She smacked her forehead and muttered, "I'm going to regret this…" She looked me in the eye. "_Why_ would I have Eileen Galvin's key? Right now you're trying to get into the superintendent's room to get his keys, and I happen to know that the key to this door is in Room 301. _This_ key is for _that_ room."

I frowned, trying to remember who lived in Room 301. "Why is the key there?"

She shrugged. "I assume Sunderland left it there after opening it up so that the police could investigate the murder victim's room."

"Murder victim?!"

Cynthia held her hands out in a placating gesture. "Relax. That pervert Mike was killed by Richard Braintree? Don't you remember?"

I stared at her, not knowing what to say. I remembered George telling me that Braintree had been executed, but… that was impossible…

She grimaced. "You know, you better just stay here. I don't need you having a fit on the stairs again. You just wait here, and I'll be back as soon as I have the key." She turned and walked back the way we had come, body swaying again. A distant part of my mind wondered how she moved that way all the time.

More than happy to not have to climb all the way back up to the third floor again, I sat down against the wall and leaned my head back. What was real, and what wasn't? Had Richard Braintree been executed for murder years ago, or had he been alive until a few days ago?

I frowned. No, she couldn't possibly be talking about the murder that tied in with the execution George had mentioned. That had been years ago, and if the superintendent's key was still misplaced in the victim's room, the investigation had to have been recently. That meant it was possible that she was right—though how would she know about the key?—but had I had a neighbor named Mike?

_Mike…?_

My head started pounding, and I looked around. Something had happened…here, in this apartment building…

_"How do you like that, you sick little freak?" a man snarled. It was Richard Braintree, his voice distorted with contempt. "You had it comin' to you! These clothes are disgusting! Get 'em outta my sight!"_

_ "I know…" It was a woman's voice. "It'll be perfect to wrap his body in."_

_ "Hold it," a man interjected, his words slurring as he tried to speak over Braintree, who had begun shouting again._

_ "You!"_

_ "Hold it…"_

_ "You snoopin' around again?!"_

_ "Think I'll keep that one for myself… hold it…"_

_ "Get your ass outta here before you really piss me off!" Braintree yelled, those words echoing in my mind as I returned to reality._

I felt dizzy. Had that been the murder? But that was impossible, because Richard Braintree hadn't been executed. He had been one of the twenty-one victims: number 19, Chaos. What was it, then?

"All right, here's the key." Cynthia's voice made me jerk, and I scrambled to my feet. "Let's get this over with."

I took the cold metal key from her, searching her face as I did so for any sign that she was lying about not knowing what was going on. But that was crazy. Why would she lie to me?

The superintendent's apartment was not very different from mine in structure, although the disturbing nature of this other world had infected it as well. Vein-like intrusions marred the walls, and rusted bars and cages had taken the place of walls and entire rooms. Almost immediately, my eye was drawn to a piece of bright red paper. It was the same shade as the ones Joseph wrote on. I ran over to it right away, but to my dismay, it was blank.

A note beside it was written clearly on white paper.

_Found by Nurse Rachael.  
__Return it to Room 302…  
__together with the part her boyfriend (Mike?) tore off…_

I sighed and shook my head. Now I could see that there was a torn scrap of red paper, as well. Apparently the distinctive paper was known to belong to Joseph, and Sunderland had intended to return the pages to him. I frowned. So, Mike had lived here before Joseph disappeared…

Cynthia cleared her throat loudly from the doorway.

Turning away from the notes, I found the keys lying nearby and picked them up. With the immediate problem solved, I was ready to head back upstairs, but I found myself looking around, instead. Something about this apartment felt off. Something about it seemed to call to me to explore it deeper, making the hair on the back of my neck prickle.

"Where are you going?" Cynthia cried, as I wandered down the hall.

Two of the other rooms were blocked off by bars, but one was open. I walked inside and saw that it was a bedroom. Unlike the rest of the place, this room still seemed fairly normal, only slightly affected. There was a diary lying open on the nightstand. Compelled to read it even though I felt like the ultimate snoop, I drifted over to see it.

_The red box seems even stranger today.  
__It's giving off a terrible smell. It's disgusting, but I just can't throw it away.  
__It must have been around 30 years ago. That young couple was living in the apartment but one day they just suddenly disappeared. Ran off just like thieves in the night. I don't know why. It must have been money troubles, or maybe they got themselves into some kind of danger._

_The problem came after that. They left their newborn baby when they took off. I even found the umbilical cord. I called the ambulance right away and I heard the baby survived, but I don't know what happened to him. Although a few years later, I often saw a young kid hanging around the apartment. One day he just stopped coming by. But now that I think of it, I'll bet he was that abandoned baby._

_It's a horrible story. Abandoning a newborn baby... That all happened in Room 302... And the umbilical cord I found there... Well, I still can't get myself to throw it away._

The superintendent's words bothered me. I reeled backwards, head pounding but no hallucination coming in response to the pain. I felt like I was looking out at the world from the end of a long tunnel, or like I was falling forward from a great height, unable to stop myself.

"What's wrong?" Cynthia asked, grabbing my arm.

"Nothing," I gasped, feeling faintly surprised that she had followed me. "I just…feel…"

Her hand waved in front of my face, and I blinked, trying to focus on it. Slowly, I grounded myself in the real world again.

"I'm better now." I gave myself a quick shake to be sure, then forced a smile. "Come on, we have to get to Eileen's room."

She threw her hands up in the air, but she didn't argue.

We made it back up to the third floor without incident. I ran up the stairs, just in case another panic attack struck me. Nothing happened, although I did catch a glimpse of something lying on one of the steps in the final stretch. The third floor was quiet and undisturbed. There was no sign that the killer had arrived yet, and I let out a sigh of relief. My room still stood in marked contrast to the others, and when I looked carefully, I still thought I could see the little boy knocking on my door. I wondered if he was the same boy the superintendent had written about. Why had he stopped coming around? Was he dead, too?

I shivered and hurried over to Room 303, keys tight in my grip. I began looking through them, searching for the right one. I couldn't find it. With a frown, I went back to the first key and started looking through them again.

Cynthia groaned and walked away from me, going past Room 302 to pace at the end of the hall.

I ignored her exasperation, starting to feel panicked. I went through the entire set of keys without seeing the one for Room 303. I checked them two more times, feeling cold dread uncurling itself in my stomach. Somehow, the superintendent's set of keys was missing the very one I needed. Was it a coincidence? Or…

_Or is the killer orchestrating all of these events? Is he stringing me along, playing mind games with me while remaining one step ahead? He was a cultist; these are his worlds. His power here must be great…_

The thought of the man who had imprisoned me having the ability to manipulate these worlds at a whim chilled me to the bone. If that was the case, then I had no chance of ever stopping him. It would explain why I was always too late to save the victims, and why contrived coincidences were once against conspiring to delay me. Were all my attempts worthless?

Part of me wanted to simply give up and accept whatever fate awaited me. Another part wanted me to return to the first floor and leave South Ashfield Heights behind—to go outside and run, and never stop running until I was so far away that even these memories felt like they belonged to someone else. It could be a trap, but if he had somehow overlooked a way to escape his worlds, it could be my only chance.

But a determined part of my mind shouted that I had to try to save Eileen. Even if it was impossible, I couldn't turn my back on her when she needed help. If I did… then I was no better a person than he was.

I took a deep breath and nodded to myself. I had the keys to the rest of the rooms. Somewhere, Eileen's key had gotten lost. All I had to do was search the building from top to bottom until I found it. The hardest part would be convincing Cynthia to have a little more patience with me.

Preparing my arguments, I turned around. Nothing she could say or do would talk me out of this. "Cynthia, I…" The words died on my lips when I looked at the woman pacing down by Room 302. Once again, I felt as though the world was crashing in upon me. She turned to look at me, and everything I had planned to say flew out of my mind.

It was Eileen.

* * *

_Author's note: It's been quite surprising to realize that my reviewers might know my writing better than I do. I suppose that's a good thing! It's nice to see so much interest. Now, if your theory about this story really is correct, this must have been a _very_ interesting chapter for you... Also, classes are starting up for me again, so my chapter uploads might be delayed or moved to a different day of the week. We'll just have to see._


	11. Chapter 11: The Doll

"_The doll is in your house and in your room and in your bed,  
__The doll is in your eyes and in your arms and in your head,  
__And you are crazy…"  
_-Jonathan Coulton, "Creepy Doll"

Chapter 11: The Doll

"Eileen!" I gasped. I blinked at the door in the confusion and then looked back at her again. How had she walked past me without me noticing? For that matter, where had Cynthia gone? I pushed those questions to the side; what mattered now was that Eileen was here, and she was safe.

Her eyes were huge. She was wearing a dark purple dress with a silver chain belt, and matching high heels, as if she were on her way to a party. I noticed that she wore bracelets on both wrists. However, her handbag was clutched in her hands as if she were going to use it as a weapon. Her hair was falling into her face slightly, and she seemed to shrink back against the wall.

"Eileen," I repeated, worried that something had already happened to her. "Eileen, it's me, Henry Townshend. I'm your neighbor, from Room 302. Eileen, are you all right?"

She focused on me and slowly straightened, lowering her hands to her sides. "You're here... I… I was on my way to a party…" She looked around, cringing at whatever it was she saw. "What…what _is_ this place?"

For a moment I was stunned into silence, and then I let out a long sigh and smiled helplessly. "You see it too!" A hysterical laugh escaped me. "You see it too!"

She edged away from me, not looking comforted. "What are you talking about?"

I took a moment to compose myself, not wanting to appear like a lunatic now. Still, though I tried not to babble, the words escaped me in a rush. "I've been here for days now. Well, not here exactly, but in places like this. I can't get out of my room, but I've found my way to these strange Otherworlds. There have been other people here, but they haven't seen it at all. They've tried to convince me that this is the real world. But if you see it too, then I'm not crazy after all!"

She had been studying our gruesome surroundings as I spoke, and when I finished, she looked at me and cried, "You've been here, all this time? Is that what happened to Joseph? Is he here, too?"

"He was at one time, at least," I sighed. "I've tried to track him down, but he's been so elusive that I'm starting to think he's dead…"

_Except George saw him at the trial…_

"And me?" she asked, an edge of panic entering her voice. "How did I get here?"

I took a deep breath, not sure what I should tell her. Finally, I decided that the truth was best. She would be safest if she knew what was going on here. "I don't entirely know, but I have suspicions—some drawn from Joseph's notes, and some from the things I've seen here. Do you know anything about the Silent Hill cult?"

Eileen bit her lip. "The cult? I've heard rumors…well, I guess everyone has heard rumors about them…"

"They're responsible for this. Ten years ago, there was a murder case in this area. The murderer was a member of the cult. He was executed, but somehow…he didn't really die. I don't know if he's a ghost now, or what." I thought back to the ghosts that had chased me through the Otherworlds and couldn't repress a shudder. Could the murderer have been among them? The thought hadn't crossed my mind before. "All I know is that he's been killing people again, here. People are pulled into these worlds, and he kills them, and then their bodies are found in the real world."

"Richard!" she gasped, putting a hand over her mouth.

I smiled in triumph, but then quickly steadied my features. I didn't want her to think I was happy about these tragedies. She knew that Braintree had been murdered. That meant I wasn't crazy after all; it really had happened like I thought. George and Cynthia were wrong about him.

_What about Mike?_ a small voice in the back of my mind wondered, but I dismissed it. It had occurred to me that there was a new explanation for my hallucinations. They were a part of this world, the murderer's world, and why would a part of his world try to give me a clue or put me on the right path? It was much more likely that they were trying to confuse me, or even change my outlook entirely. Perhaps they were meant to make me view this place the way George and Cynthia did, so that I would lose my desire to escape until it was too late.

"I'm not entirely sure," I concluded, "but I think he intends you to be his next victim."

Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. "Me? No!"

"I'm sorry," I said, looking at the ground. Forcing as much confidence into my voice as I could, I declared, "I'll protect you."

She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. "How?"

I blinked, feeling a bit insulted by her reaction.

"If these are his worlds, than he has the upper hand here. Have you been able to save any of his other victims? Has Joseph? Do you even know if it's possible?" She shook her head and covered her face, her voice breaking. "You've been trapped here for how long now? If you can't get out, then you're just as much a prisoner here as I am!"

"There's a way out now," I said. "The main doors downstairs…they open to the outside, the real outside! We can get out of here!"

"What? Then why didn't you escape?"

"I knew it was going to be you this time. I couldn't leave without you."

She stared at me for a moment, and then she smiled. "Thank you… I-I'm sorry I didn't believe you could save me."

I smiled and gestured down the hallway. "Don't thank me just yet. We still have to make it down the stairs."

She laughed and followed me as I started walking.

There was a spring in my step, brought on by the impossible realization that I might actually be able to do this. I had seen the way out, and now I had found Eileen. She knew to be on her guard against the murderer, and she knew that this wasn't the real world. If I was right about what I had seen through those doors, then the nightmare was almost over.

_For us, at least. Joseph might still be here somewhere. And…_

"Where did Cynthia go?" I asked, as we reached the end of the hall and I thought about my previous journey this way.

"Who?"

"Cynthia Velasquez. She's…" I trailed off, feeling oddly reluctant to try to explain whatever my relationship with Cynthia was. "She's a woman I met here, and she was helping me try to find you."

When I looked over, Eileen was frowning. "When I saw you by my door, you were alone. I haven't seen anyone else here."

"That's strange," I said, a sense of unease creeping through me. How could Cynthia have just vanished like that? Had she woken up in the real world? Were people like she and George in the real world all the time, just momentarily connected to mine? I shook my head as we reached the stairs. I couldn't worry about it. I couldn't save everyone. It was enough that I could help Eileen to escape.

_What if it's not the real world out there?_ a treacherous voice suggested in my head. _What if you'll get pulled back here again and again? What if the nightmare never ends?_

"Stop it," I muttered under my breath. That was impossible. This would work. I thought back to the moment when Cynthia had opened the doors. The cool breeze, the clean streets, and the buildings rising up as straight, separate structures—these were all things I had seen, and all things that belonged to the real world. This really was going to work.

I was halfway down the stairs when I realized I was alone. My stomach dropped, and I whirled around. To my relief, there was no ice in sight. Eileen had simply stopped a few steps from the top. She was crouched, frowning at something on the ground.

"What is it?" I asked, walking back to her.

She looked up at me. "Henry?" she asked, sounding perplexed.

"Yes?"

"I…" She frowned and looked down again. Now that I was close enough, I could see that the object that had caught her attention was a small doll. It was made of cloth, and although it was quite worn, it was clearly in the shape of a little girl. Despite its obvious age, it was in quite good condition. Its owner must have loved it very much, and I imagined that it was once the treasured possession of a child. It seemed strange that such a thing would have ended up here.

The back of my neck prickled. "We have to get going," I said, feeling uncomfortable about lingering near the strange doll.

Eileen picked up the doll and stood, still looking at it.

I started to walk again, anxious to get moving. "Eileen, we've got to get out of here!"

To my relief, she followed, but she seemed transfixed by the doll in her hands. "Why would this be here?" she whispered.

"I don't know," I snapped, feeling fear that I couldn't place. I wanted nothing more than for her to drop the doll and forget it forever. "Why? Does it mean something to you?"

She lifted her head, a distant, lost look on her face. "This was my doll…a long, long time ago…"

A chill ran through me at her words, and I cried, "Eileen, it doesn't matter! Come on!"

She lifted her hand to her mouth with a gasp of horror, looking stricken. "Except I gave it away! I—"

Ice choked off her words, spreading throughout her body and freezing her in place. From her feet, it ran outwards across the stairs to touch the walls. Bloody red was replaced by cold blue; organic matter vanished as everything around us crystallized and transformed. The walls buckled, crumbling in parts and being bolstered by jagged pillars in others. Hysterical laughter rang out from somewhere, growing more distorted and shrill until it was impossible to discern from sobbing. The ice claimed everything except for the doll, and within seconds, the transformation was complete.

I fell to my knees in front of the frozen sculpture that had been Eileen. "No!" I screamed, pounding my fists on the ground. We had been so close. "No!"

A shriek answered me, and my head snapped up even as pain afflicted me. A pale hand was pushing its way through the ice of the wall. The ghosts were coming.

I turned to run, but I hesitated, looking at the doll. The ice hadn't touched it. The ice always covered everything—except, it seemed, the things that I would need. With a grimace, I picked up the toy and shoved it into my pocket. It bent, but I didn't care. That thing was somehow responsible for what had happened to Eileen.

Then I ran, going up the stairs after only a moment of hesitation. I couldn't escape now. If the murderer followed the same pattern he had used with all of the other victims, Eileen was in danger again. I had no idea if I could save her while the ice world had me in its grip, but I could at least inspect the area around her apartment again.

_Why is he playing games with me?_ I wondered, as I raced down the hallway. _Why force me through all of this? Why taunt me with the prospect that I can save victims whose fates are out of my hands?_

With no answers to be found, there was nothing I could do but continue along and hope I could find a way to break his rules this time. As I had expected, Eileen's door was free of the ice, although when I tried to get in, it was still locked. I looked through the keys once again, hoping the one labeled 303 was among them after all. It wasn't. I groaned, feeling something close to despair.

"But how could Eileen be in there?" I asked myself, trying to think it through logically. I stepped back and saw that all of the doors were free of the ice, and the area outside of Room 302 still looked like a piece of the real world.

_That _is_ the real world's Room 302,_ I realized. _The Otherworld's Room 302 is back in the real world._

With that in mind, I approached the door. The image of the little boy faded before I could get close enough to take a good look at him. With trembling fingers, I found the key for Room 302 and tried it.

Though the key worked, the door refused to budge. I slammed against it several times, trying to force it, but it was futile. In my mind's eye, I could picture the chains holding it fast. Perhaps the connection between the real world and this one was not quite as clear-cut as a simple swap.

"But still, Eileen can't be in Room 303," I said, turning back towards her door. "She's frozen back there, where we were standing. She can't be in two places at once." I frowned, remembering that Cynthia had also frozen, but had somehow unfrozen and made it to a completely different place to be murdered. "Could Eileen be awake now, in the real world, and soon she'll be sent back?"

My head was starting to hurt, and my conversation with myself wasn't really giving me any answers. Part of me wanted to run and try to escape, if such a thing was even still possible, but I had promised to protect Eileen. I had to find a way into that room…unless she wasn't in there at all, and I would only be wasting time.

A woman's scream rang out from inside Room 303, and I threw myself at the door. "Eileen!" There was no response, and no further sounds, but I couldn't believe that I had imagined it. She had screamed. That meant…he was already there.

I shuddered and stumbled backwards, trying to think of something I could do. As if in response to my thoughts, the ice on the wall between Rooms 303 and 302 cracked, and dark letters drifted up to the surface.

_Truth  
__Each page is a piece of the whole  
__Truth lies scattered in five pieces_

I read it over twice and took a deep breath. I forced away all thoughts that this would get me nowhere, that it was just the cult messing with my mind and playing games with me. This had to be a clue. It was telling me that there were five scattered pages, and I needed to gather them together. I hoped it meant that would help me get into Eileen's room, but the wording made me wonder if the only result would be that I would understand more about what was going on.

_But the more I understand, the better off I'll be._

Nodding to myself, I began my search of the apartments. I started with Room 301. It was already unlocked, and I remembered that Cynthia had gone there to find the key to the superintendent's room. I wondered where she had gone. She hadn't given me the impression that the man who lived here was a very nice person, so I braced myself for what I might find.

"Murder victim," I reminded myself, stepping into the apartment. However, there was nothing in the room to suggest that there had been any sort of ongoing police investigation. It was untidy, but not as if it had been searched. The glossy sheen of ice gave everything an unearthly quality. Beer cans and pornographic magazines littered the floor, all crystalized in blue, and I stepped through the mess carefully, looking around.

I doubted very much that I needed a page from the magazines to solve the riddles. I wouldn't even know which one to take, unless there was a clue, like one of them containing a picture of Eileen. For a moment I stood there, considering the idea, and then I shook my head. That would be too strange. I would search the magazines as a last resort, if I found nothing else.

There was a diary lying on the table, and I picked it up. It was open to two pages, each with an entry, but the rest of the book was blank. I frowned and read it over, wondering if these were two of the pages I needed.

_The last few months, Joseph, the guy next door to me  
__who gave me that rare porn magazine, looks like  
__he's been working super hard. He said if he found  
__another rare one, he'd give it to me, but he hasn't shown  
__his face around much lately. He said he was a journalist,  
__and he is always investigating stuff.  
__But I think something strange is going on with him.  
__He's been shut in his apartment, and I can hear all these weird  
__noises coming from there.  
__July 1 –Mike_

_Oh, my beautiful Rachael,  
__What's with the note on the red paper?  
__I thought you'd written a note back to me…  
__but I guess maybe it was someone else.  
__He took it along with my clothes.  
__Those were my best clothes.  
__July 2 –Mike_

The first entry caught my attention, because it confirmed that Mike had been living here when Joseph vanished. The second entry, however, made me catch my breath. The details of his life meant little to me, but he mentioned the red paper…and it seemed that only Joseph used that red paper. That meant I wasn't the only person Joseph had tried to contact.

A piece of blank red paper had been lying next to the diary, and I picked it up. It also meant that there were specific pages that easily stood out from the rest—and definitely had a connection to this world. Joseph had helped me so much. What better to use as pieces of _Truth_ than his scattered journals? I put the page in my pocket. As I did so, my hand brushed the doll, and I shuddered. I was still convinced that the thing was somehow responsible for what had happened.

My search of the apartment revealed no more red papers, but a newspaper article lying on the table did catch my eye. Joseph Schreiber had written it, and it was about the Wish House. With a grimace, I turned away from it. I already knew too much about the orphanage that had been run by the cult. I didn't need to know the details of his investigation. I only hoped he had been able to save some of the children.

I knew I had seen two red pages in Sunderland's room, so I headed there next. Leaving the first floor behind, I hurried down the stairs, noticing how the building's transformation had made it almost beautiful, but frightening at the same time. In a way, I thought it was more frightening than the bloody décor had been.

_No ghosts,_ I pleaded silently, as if I could force them away through my will alone. _The ghosts can't get me here. Not this time. Not when I need to save Eileen._

A dull headache had taken up permanent residence in my head, but I felt no sign of the pains that accompanied the ghosts' arrival. When I reached the second floor and continued on down the stairs, voices—voices from the past, I believed—began to whisper and echo all around me, the last remains, I supposed, of whatever tragedies had occurred in South Ashfield Heights to make this Otherworld rendered in such detail.

_"Who are you?"_

_ "Who are you looking for?"_

_ "What are you doing here?"_

_ "Go away."_

_ "You don't belong here."_

_ "Go away."_

_ "This is not your home."_

_ "Go away."_

I shivered, breaking into a run at the bottom of the stairs. This was unsettling. Part of me felt sure that I was hearing these voices because they were speaking _to_ me—warning me away, telling me to escape while I still could. The doors to the outside were free of the ice. I forced myself not to even approach them. If I saw those streets again, I feared I might never bring myself to continue this search.

When I entered the superintendent's room, I didn't allow myself to be distracted by anything. I headed straight to where I had found the red papers before and picked them up. I paused, looking at the torn piece. I wondered if that counted as one, or if it was only a half of one. It wasn't a full page, but the message had said that I would find five pieces, not pages. I pocketed them and decided I would worry about that later.

Leaving that room, I took a deep breath, got out the keys, and began my search of the apartments. It was quite disconcerting. Every room had the strange layout, with cages and bars blocking off certain rooms. Ice covered nearly everything, freezing a snapshot of the tenants' lives—except that Sunderland's room was the only one that looked like a normal apartment. Some rooms were like Mike's had been, crammed with whatever the tenant's interest had been, as if a hobby or career was the only thing that defined the person's existence. The rest of the rooms were bare and empty, with no sign that they had ever been inhabited at all. The worst part was having to search the rooms, just in case the pages I needed could be found there. I searched everywhere, not willing to risk missing one.

One room was filled with cats. I froze in the doorway, disconcerted by all of the frozen faces staring at me. A few looked like they had been alive when the ice came, but the majority of them were visibly dead, with blood staining the ice that encased them or their bodies twisted into impossible positions. Yet all of them were facing the door, so that as I edged into the room, I had the impression of being stared down by a legion of corpses.

I searched the room as quickly as I could, walking around the glaring statues and not daring to look over my shoulder, in case their dead eyes had followed my movement. Only one area was free of ice, although I almost missed it due to the amount of blood. Fresh and still wet, blood had soaked into a pair of jeans so quickly that they were unrecognizable. When I tentatively disturbed the pile, I discovered that they had been wrapped around yet another dead cat.

"I really don't want to do this," I muttered, holding the horrifying pants with one hand and searching the pockets with the other.

I came away with another red page, which was mysteriously free of blood. After looking it over, I put it in my pocket with the other blank pages. Then I fled the room, trying not to look at the frozen animals, and wiping my hands on my pants until I was well down the hallway.

I had finally calmed down from the experience when I stumbled into a scene from the past. Richard Braintree's room was exactly as I had seen it in the building world, except that ice covered everything and the chair in the center was mercifully empty—save for a revolver. I walked towards it, wondering what this room looked like in the real world, and which story reality followed. That tea set on the shelf, frosted over and glistening…was it long gone from the real South Ashfield Heights, having been discarded when its owner was executed for murder? Or was it still there, gathering dust in the days following _his_ murder at the hands of a cultist?

Whatever was really going on, I knew I was no longer safe. Soon, the murderer would surely come after me, if the ghosts didn't get me first. I took the revolver and slipped it into my pocket. I wasn't confident in my ability to use it, as I had never fired a gun before, but I felt I needed to at least have the means to attempt self-defense.

I felt uneasy taking the weapon of a dead man, so I quickly left the room behind.

After a few more empty rooms, I found myself in a room covered in beer cans and bottles of alcohol. They put Mike's collection to shame; he had needed room for his magazines. Every inch of the floor was covered in cans and bottles, but they also littered the walls and ceiling. Some were in the process of pouring, and frozen waterfalls of alcohol decorated the room.

A bloody pool in one of the corners caught my eye, standing out from the rest, and I hurried over to it. There was a shirt lying there, just as soaked as the pants had been. I wondered if they were from the same person or incident. Turning it over cautiously, I located a breast pocket on the front and reached in. A scrap of torn paper was inside. If the scraps counted as separate pieces, I had found all five.

I searched the rest of the rooms, just in case, but eventually I found myself back up in front of the writing on the wall, holding my five papers in a stack in my hand. They had to be the right ones. I scanned the words again, but found that I had no idea what I was supposed to do next. Walking over to Room 303, I tried the door. It was still locked. I checked the keys. The key to her room was still missing.

I paced back and forth for several minutes, looking over the pages for any clue I might have missed. As I was going through the blank pages for the fourth time, an idle thought about the lack of blood on them made me freeze in place. I remembered the note that Sunderland had tried to send me, and how it had turned up illegible. Joseph could send me notes because we were both in the Otherworld. He sent notes on red pages just like this one. There was nothing on them now, but maybe…

"If this is a mistake, I'm in big trouble," I muttered, hurrying over to Room 302. The boy phantom faded as I arrived. I crouched down and shoved the five pages under the door. Then I stepped back, feeling unsure.

My wait was a quick one. Not even a minute had passed before a white page shot out from underneath my door. I cautiously picked it up.

_Unlocked._

"That's it?" I asked, frowning at it. There was nothing else I had to do? Then what was the doll for?

With a shrug, I put the note in my pocket and walked over to Room 303. It seemed impossible… I had done nothing that should logically open the door. I was sure that when I tried to get in, I would find that it was locked again, and I would have to start all over. Nevertheless, I took a deep breath and tried the doorknob.

The door opened.

I ran inside, and a terrible sight met my eyes. Eileen was lying on the floor, still in her purple dress. The carpet was stained with blood, mostly running from the numbers _20/21_ carved viciously into her back. Her arm was limp and clearly broken, and I could already see bruises forming on her skin.

"Eileen!" I screamed. Her head lifted, so I ran around to look into her face. "Eileen, don't worry! I'll call an ambulance! I'll get you out of here! I'll—"

Her mouth opened as if she was going to say something, but nothing came out. Tears were streaming from her wide eyes, along with the blood running down her face. Her eyes fluttered closed. Someone had beaten her to the brink of death. I felt sick and horrified, and my head was pounding.

_"Did you…find your…mommy…?" her voice echoed. _

I fell to my knees, feeling dazed. My thoughts were jumbled and confused. The ice had vanished, and I hadn't even noticed. Eileen's head was down, like she was unconscious. Had to be unconscious. She couldn't be dead. I had to help her. Moving her might hurt her even worse. But how could I get an ambulance to come here? If she was unconscious, maybe she was back in the real world. I couldn't call from the real world for help, though; my phone didn't work—and I was still here!

I got to my feet slowly, looking down at Eileen. There had to be something I could do.

A quiet _snick_ caught my attention as the doorknob turned. My head snapped up, and my breath caught. Who could be coming here now? If it was George or Cynthia, I could now force them to see the truth. But if it wasn't…

_What if he knows she's alive, and now he's coming to finish the job?_ My hand crept towards the pocket where I had stashed the revolver.

The door opened, and a man stepped inside. He was dressed in a crisp black suit and had a gun in his hand. My other hand jerked reflexively towards the sword I still had belted around my waist, because for a moment I thought it was Jimmy Stone's ghost, coming to attack me. However, although this man was bald, his skin was simply light, not like the deathly pallor of Stone's, and he looked very much alive. His face was set in a hard expression as he regarded the room.

From somewhere in the depths of my memory, a name surfaced. _Joseph Schreiber…_ I had found him at last. I stared at him, unable to believe it.

Joseph Schreiber looked at me. For a moment, he just stood there. Then he lifted the gun and aimed it at my head.


	12. Chapter 12: The Hospital

"_It's the peculiar magnificence of the human spirit  
__that's required to provide the potential for such corruption."  
_-Dr. Woodard, _Dark Shadows_

Chapter 12: The Hospital

For a second, I stood there in shock, and then I realized that I was in real danger. I raised my hands and watched the man cautiously. My mind was racing. This had to be Joseph. Why, then, would he point a gun at me? We were on the same side; he was trying to stop the cult, not help them!

Wasn't he?

"Joseph," I said, looking him in the eye. "Eileen's alive, but she needs help now."

His gaze hardened. The gun didn't move.

I withheld a grimace and kept my expression as calm as I could, although inwardly, my blood had begun to boil. Eileen's life didn't matter to him? He would waste time while she lay dying? I had sought his aid for so long, but now I was suspicious of what sort of man Joseph Schreiber actually was.

"I don't know what to do," I tried again. "She must be in the real world now, but I don't know how to get there."

A troubled crease appeared on his forehead. "What are you talking about?"

"No, no, no, no, no," I said firmly, shaking my head and forcing down a spike of panic. "You can't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. You can't claim this is the real world. Not you. You're the one who's been giving me all of the notes about these Otherworlds!"

"Giving you notes?"

I gritted my teeth and ignored my sudden urge to punch the man, heedless of his gun. "Yes, you have. Your diary has been showing up under my door ever since I was trapped."

He looked down at Eileen's body again. The look on his face was so cold that for a moment my conviction wavered, and I wondered if he was not Joseph after all.

"You _are_ Joseph, right?"

The man nodded slowly.

Too conscious of the gun still aimed at me, I said, "I'm Henry Townshend; I moved into Room 302 about six months after you disappeared! Now I'm trapped, just like you were, and I've been going through these strange worlds. More people have been dying." I took a deep breath. "Look at the numbers on Eileen's back. The 21 Sacraments are almost complete. But maybe if we work together, we can stop it!"

Joseph's eyes had widened as I spoke. "I never imagined anything like this would happen…" His hand wavered slightly, and then he lowered the gun.

I let my arms drop. "How are we going to save Eileen?" I urged.

He gave me a sorrowful look. "I think you know that it's too late for Miss Galvin."

"That's not true!" I shouted. I crouched by Eileen. "Help me carry her. We can get her outside, maybe to the real world! There's a hospital…yes, and then she'll recover! Hurry!"

"Calm down!"

Since he obviously wasn't going to help me, I ignored him. Eileen was smaller than me, and I was confident that I could carry her on my own if I had to. I reached towards her, hoping I wouldn't hurt her when I moved her. The room seemed to vanish from around me as I moved. I pitched forward into darkness with a panicked cry, and my last thought was to wonder if I had failed to save a victim yet again.

xXx

When I woke up, I was curled into a ball on my bed, shaky and stunned from what had happened. The doll had somehow fallen out of my pocket, and I clutched it tightly now for comfort. It seemed a lot more helpful than Joseph had been. Surely it would have helped me save Eileen if it could. It understood.

A moment later, I sat upright and threw the thing across the room. _It_ had made the ice come, somehow, just when Eileen and I were about to escape. _It_ was responsible for Eileen's death.

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, thinking about how close I had been to saving her. It wasn't fair. She shouldn't have died. She was such a nice person. No matter what the others had done, I felt certain that she had never knowingly hurt anyone in her life.

_Eileen Galvin never deserved to be a victim._

A blaring sound reached my ears, and I opened my eyes. Blinking slowly, I tried to process the meaning of the sound. It was some sort of siren…

_Sirens? Sirens!_

I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. A large white vehicle was parked outside, with flashing lights on its roof—an ambulance had come after all. I watched as it pulled away from the building and into the road, racing down the street. Help had come. Eileen still had a chance.

Feeling more encouraged at last, I retrieved the doll, feeling silly for having reacted in such a way. Then I left the room. Eileen might still be alive, and Joseph was on our side now. If the three of us worked together, we might be able to get out of this yet. And I was willing to bet that the solution lay in us meeting up in the Otherworlds.

When I walked into the living room, I saw that numerous pages had been shoved under my door. For a moment, I was stunned. Joseph had never given me that much information at one time before. Then I remembered the strange puzzle I had solved to gain access to Eileen's room, and I understood. Some of those pages, I myself had put there. I wasn't certain I understood how it worked, but things like that didn't seem to matter anymore. Crouching, I picked up the stack and began to read them.

_I figured out the riddle behind the numbers.  
_"_01121" is actually "01/21." In other words, 1 out of 21.  
__So Walter was planning to kill 21 people…?  
__But he never finished the job. He was convicted for the murders  
__of Billy and Miriam Locane, the 7__th__ and 8__th__ victims.  
__Afterwards, he committed suicide in his jail cell.  
__The grisly mass murder of 10 people shocked the world  
__and came to be known as the  
"Walter Sullivan case."  
__There are two big puzzles here.  
__The first is: What was the motive for the murders?  
__The second is: Why did he kill himself before completing his task?  
__Was he simply  
insane?  
__May 2_

I swallowed hard. Most of Joseph's revelations were things I already knew, but my attention was drawn back to the name of the two victims mentioned, number 7 and number 8. Billy and Miriam Locane. Those were the two children George had told me about, but in his story, they had been rescued. At the time, I had felt uncomfortable, somehow feeling that they had been victims.

Now I had proof.

"Why would George lie?" I asked, knowing that it was the most rational of the possible explanations. But maybe I wasn't living in a rational world anymore. "Why is George's reality so different from this one?"

Just one more thing I would have to figure out. Perhaps Joseph could explain it.

_It was four years ago that they discovered the body with "12/21"carved into it.  
Right away I had this terrible feeling and couldn't stop shaking. Walter has been dead  
__for seven years, having committed suicide 3 years before the murder.  
__The police think it's a copycat crime, and are calling it the Sullivan Case Round 2.  
__But something about it bothered me…  
__May 14_

I shivered. Did they still think it was a copycat case, even now? Did they realize their untraceable killer had been on the loose for this long and never stopped to wonder if there was something more to this? Was Joseph the only one who started to put the pieces together?

_I picked up the key from Room 303 that Eileen must have dropped.  
__I thought I'd return it, but she wasn't home. I guess I'll give it to the super.  
__May 20_

_I lost the key to Eileen Galvin's room. I've gotta find it and bring it back.  
__Let me think. The last place I saw it was…_

That was the torn piece, so I turned my attention next to the other torn scrap.

_Oh yeah, I had a really wicked headache the other day and just  
__collapsed in the bed. Maybe if I look near the bed in my room, I'll find it.  
I__ get headaches every day now.  
__It's terrible.  
__What am I going to do?  
__May 22_

A chill ran through me. Joseph had gotten headaches, just like I did, but it seemed that his had been much worse. Was that my fate, as well? What did it mean? And what was the point of these letters? It seemed that in the past, Eileen's key had also been lost. Was that the answer, that the Otherworlds reflected the past? But whose past, and why?

There was only one page left, so I turned my attention to it.

_I don't think I can protect myself.  
__He's truly  
insane.  
__I can't hold on any longer.  
__His power can't be measured.  
__I was so scared today that I sealed off the back of the storage room.  
__I wonder if Eileen Galvin is okay.  
__She has no idea what's going on…  
__But she's in danger nevertheless.  
__July 13_

There was a frightened, stilted effect in his writing, and I realized with a shiver of trepidation that Joseph was not writing this in a smooth, connected fashion so that I could understand what was happening. If I truly wanted answers, I would have to find him again and talk to him.

And more importantly, I needed to find Eileen.

Taking everything back to the scrapbook in the bedroom, I gathered my nerves and marched into the bathroom. I stopped dead. The hole had been sealed up. Signs of it were still there, but it had been filled in with either dirt or cement, and a few moments of inspecting it told me that it would take too much time for me to dig it out again—time I didn't have.

I stared at it for a moment, feeling hopeless, and then I remembered that Joseph's last note had mentioned sealing off the storage room. I supposed he could mean the room I had my washer and dryer in. Personally, I would not have referred to that as a "storage room," but he definitely couldn't be talking about the bathroom. That, then, would be my next place to search.

When I entered the room, I saw to my dismay that it looked perfectly normal. A strange smell caught my attention, and I looked around. It took me a moment to focus, as a sudden headache afflicted me. When I finally could see clearly, I realized that the dryer had sprayed blood everywhere. I looked at it, perplexed, and then a spike of pain shot through my head.

I cried out, falling to my knees, and I was suddenly assailed by whispers and cries that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The pain was blinding, and it brought with it a sense of foreboding and terror, and a part of me was convinced that this was the end.

Then it faded, and when I looked up, one of the walls had been transformed. A perfectly circular hole was cut into it, opening up another tunnel. Around the border, a blood-red pattern had been painted, and I recognized it with a prickle of fear. It was the cult's symbol, the same shape I had seen at the Water Prison. If I had needed any further proof of the Order's involvement, I had it now. And if I wanted to continue my quest, I had to cross into that symbol.

"If that's what it takes," I muttered under my breath. I checked to make sure I had both my sword and my gun, and then I climbed through the hole.

xXx

I had the sensation of waking up, once again having no memory of the trip through the tunnel. I was lying on something cold and hard, and when I opened my eyes, I blurrily saw flickering lights in a high ceiling, gray walls splattered with blood, and blades and needles arranged on metallic trays. There was a beeping sound in the distance, and a sickly pungent smell in the air that flooded me with adrenaline.

Realizing at the same time that I was lying on a rusted hospital gurney, I sat upright and looked around in alarm. There was a bloodstained curtain blocking my view of the rest of the room. I started to turn, and my leg bumped something cold and soft. Looking over, I saw that I was sharing the table with a corpse.

I screamed and jumped away, falling on the ground and not much caring. As I got to my feet, I took another look at the corpse. Its hair was as pale as its skin, and the only color on it was the visible red blood in its midsection, where it had been sliced open and operated upon in a haphazard fashion.

"Like I know," I said shakily, backing away from the corpse. I kept my eyes on it until I was beyond the curtain, unable to look away. It was clear that I was in some sort of horrifying Otherworld hospital, far worse than any in the real world. Had Eileen ended up here as well?

A hand clapped down heavily on my shoulder, and I screamed again.

"Good to see you, too," George Rosten commented in a dry tone, spinning me around to face him. "You're making a habit of wandering around with a lost look on your face, you know that?"

"George!" I gasped, feeling my heart rate starting to return to normal. "I thought…"

"Sorry, did I interrupt a hallucination or something?"

I grimaced, not knowing how to answer that. For a moment, I had felt certain that my nemesis was nearby.

George smirked. "Well, at least you're in the hospital. That's progress. Got your memory back yet?"

Experience had taught me that it would be useless to indicate the bloodstained, twisted surroundings and ask if it looked like a normal hospital to him. "No answers yet," I said instead. "I'm looking for Eileen Galvin. I think she was brought here after the attack."

His eyes widened. "Attack? Hey, what's going on? I thought you were just trying to get your memory back and figure out what had happened to you."

I sighed. "George, I know you want to help me. But knowing my past isn't important right now. Eileen is in grave danger, and everything is tied together with what's happening to me." I thought back to his reaction at the prison and took a deep breath. "I need your help in figuring out what's going on. What do you know?"

He put his hands up. "I don't know what you're talking about. I can help you with your memories, but I don't know anything else that could help."

"You know something about the Order."

"Ah yes, 'the Order,'" he said, quoting the words in the air and walking a few paces away, raising his arms in the air dramatically as he continued. "A malevolent cult allegedly responsible for trapping you in your room and unleashing an undead serial killer." He turned back to me and shook his head. "I have dismissed those claims."

I glared at him. "Stop messing around!"

"I'm not messing around; I'm being rational!"

I folded my arms. "Whether you believe me or not, you know more about the Order than I do, and you're going to tell me!"

He leaned back against one of the bloodstained walls and eyed me skeptically. "Or what?"

For a moment, I considered punching him in the jaw to wipe away that smug smirk, but I settled for the logical route. "Why would you not want to tell me?"

"Look," George cried, throwing his hands into the air, "I just know what everyone knows about the cult."

"Which is much more than I know right now," I pointed out. "Amnesia, remember?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You're awful cavalier about that all of a sudden…"

"More important things have come up."

He laughed. "Okay, okay…" He looked around. "Just, uh, you mind if we _don't_ talk in the operating room?"

"Fine," I said, joining him as he walked towards the door.

The lobby outside was no more inviting than the operating room had been. It looked like it had been abandoned for years, with plaster peeling from the cracked walls. Everything was quiet, still, and dead. Disgusting insect-mammal hybrids, like the ones I had hallucinated in the forest, lay dead around the doorways. A chill crept down my spine.

George, as unperturbed as ever, strode calmly across to another door, opened it, and went inside.

I followed and found myself in a dilapidated doctor's office. George pulled out two chairs that had been sitting against the wall, dragging them to the middle of the room. He sat down in one, leaving the other for me.

"So," I said, sitting down, "the Order?"

He rested his chin on his hand. "Well, they're a religious group, mainly confined to Silent Hill, although they've spread out a bit in recent years. Not much is known about them—they run some charities, try to convert newcomers, get wild rumors going about themselves… They have some conflicts with other religions; the Christians around here aren't terribly fond of them, and of course, the cult's secrecy fuels the rumor-mongers."

I watched him suspiciously as he spoke. He seemed calm enough, almost _too_ calm, as if he were eager to have me dismiss the Order as a trivial matter not to be worried about. I would have to shake him up if I wanted real answers. Asking about the Wish House-Water Prison travesty could do it, but there was another way that brought a smile to my face.

"What about the Ritual of the Holy Assumption?"

The blood drained from his face. "The…what?"

My smile became a grin of triumph, and I reached into my pocket. The paper was still there, beside the doll. I pulled it out and cleared my throat.

"The First Sign:  
And God said,  
At the time of fullness,  
cleanse the world with my rage.  
Gather forth the White Oil, the Black Cup,  
and the Blood of the Ten Sinners.  
Prepare for the _Ritual of the Holy Assumption._"

"That…that sounds like part of a larger ritual…" He let out a nervous laugh. "Or perhaps it's just a legend…a myth…"

"The 21 Sacraments?" I suggested.

His mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments. "How do you know these names?" he finally asked in a hoarse whisper.

"It's written down right here," I said, holding the paper out. "Would you like me to read the rest?"

He flinched away as if the paper were on fire. "No, thank you. What are you doing with something like that?"

I leaned towards him, meeting his eyes even though he tried to ignore my gaze. "I got it in these worlds, George. This is what the murderer is doing—the serial killer you don't believe exists is almost done with the 21 Sacraments!"

"Impossible," he said, waving his hand. His composure had returned to him, at least outwardly. "I would have heard about these murders. You found that piece of paper just before your problem started, and now you're hallucinating about a cultist murderer trying to fulfill it. You've created your own personal horror story."

I groaned and put the page back in my pocket. "Then answer my questions for my personal curiosity. If a person were to attempt to complete the 21 Sacraments… what would be necessary?"

He rubbed his forehead. "I don't know. Can we—"

"How do cultists get their powers?" I interrupted.

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"How is it possible for their rituals to work?"

"How do you know they—oh, right. Undead killer. Trapped in apartment. Cult magic all around."

"George," I growled, starting to lose patience, "just answer the question!"

"I can only tell you what I've heard," he sighed. "Some are people with special affinities for the supernatural. There was a girl in Silent Hill years ago who was supposed to be a full-blown psychic or something."

"Alessa." The name crossed my lips automatically, and I caught my breath. I had seen the name…and I knew something about the girl.

"Yeah," he said, looking uncomfortable. "Aren't a lot of her type around, though… As for the others… Well, some turn to Valtiel for help."

"Valtiel," I repeated, trying to decide if that name also sounded familiar, or if I was just still excited from my memory of Alessa. "That is…the cult's god?"

"Well, no. Valtiel is more like an angel…an intermediary, guiding God into this world."

"And the 21 Sacraments would do that," I said, thinking out loud as I tried to pull distant thoughts together. "Could Valtiel perform the ritual?"

"No. He aids the process, either from the sidelines or through the person."

"Excuse me?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "Through the person? You sure he's an angel? This sounds like demonic possession."

He drew back, looking affronted. "Valtiel is _not_ a demon. He can enter a person's consciousness and guide them, but he cannot take direct control of their actions."

"All right," I said. "Pretend for a moment that my murderer exists. Is he more likely to be using his own latent powers, or working with Valtiel?"

George frowned. "Does it matter?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted, frowning. It was a strange tug on my thoughts that had called the question to mind. "It feels important to know if it's all him or if Valtiel shares in the blame."

He shook his head. "Weren't you listening a second ago? Valtiel can't _force_ someone to complete the ritual, only guide and aid the process!"

"But what sort of person could do that?" I protested. "Even for a fanatic, to kill so many people…some of them innocent people…"

"Some people are driven by goals that seem mad to others…" He looked contemplative for a moment, but then he groaned and smacked his forehead. "You've got me doing it, now! There is no murderer!"

I stood up. It would be useless to try to pursue this line of questioning further, and I felt what I had learned was worthwhile. George had seemed uncomfortable when discussing Valtiel, particularly in response to my questions, so I set that information aside. If I ever was trapped in a confrontation with the murderer, I would challenge him about his free will. Perhaps he didn't even know about Valtiel.

Then there was the ritual. The 21 Sacraments. If I could learn more about that, perhaps I could thwart his plans without ever meeting him. Perhaps there was even a way to disable the cult power that had created this nightmare. The Order was the key to this whole mess. I could feel it.

George waved his hand in front of my face. "Hello?"

I jumped. I hadn't even seen him get up. "Sorry." I shook my head and turned to the door. "Let's go find Eileen."

"Why? Oh, right, attacked by the undead killer. I keep forgetting."

Ignoring him, I left the room and looked around. After a few moments of investigating the area, I found a door leading to a hallway. From the numerous doors along the walls, I suspected this was where patients would be, in the real-world variant of the hospital. If Eileen had been taken there first, and now she was in the Otherworld, there was a good chance she would be in one of those rooms.

"Let's split up," I suggested, wanting to find her as quickly as possible. "I'll check the doors on the right, you check the doors on the left. Okay, George?"

He didn't answer.

"George?" I turned around. He wasn't in the hall with me. I opened the doors I had come through and peered out. There was no sign of him. "Okay, I'll check both sides," I sighed, feeling irritation tinged by a trace of concern. Where could he have gone, and why?

_Probably woke up in the real world…if that's what's happening with him…_

I couldn't worry about him now. Taking a deep breath, I began exploring the area, praying I would find Eileen before that madman could reach her again. There was a strange feeling in the air, and after only the few steps it took to reach the first door, my head felt heavy. My thoughts were drifting, trying to catch ahold of scents and images I had no conscious memory of. I stopped, staring at the door, feeling dazed and dreamlike. What was I doing here? This was a terrible place. I could see blood on the walls, old stains alongside fresh coats that trickled down to drip on the floor. I could feel the pain and fear of this place as if it was my own. Everything was becoming blurry and wavery. Too much tragedy had happened here, and it wanted to claim me, too. Much better to simply turn around…

I caught myself and shook my head sharply. "Eileen!" I shouted out loud, trying to drive the foggy confusion away from my brain. "I'm here for Eileen!"

The world stabilized around me, and I realized that all the blood I had seen had only been a product of my imagination. The walls were old and stained, but it was the work of water, nothing more. Before the strange fear could creep up on me again, I opened the door and went inside.

A terrible stench greeted me. I choked and stumbled backwards, looking around for the source. It was a small room, with some sort of glass tanks against the back wall. Some of them were cracked, and I could see shapes inside. Looking closer, I knew that they were bodies. I retreated to the safety of the hallway, shaking all over.

This could not be an ordinary hospital, could it?

"This is the killer's idea of a hospital," I reminded myself, steadying my nerves and moving on to the door across the hall.

The rest of the rooms were just as terrible. I found more hidden corpses, some too small for comfort, amidst scenes of bloodshed and terror. I found a room filled with incubators, but a terribly long, fleshy cord had covered them and claimed the room. I found a man's skin, long separated from his body, and I found a room filled with dismembered limbs. I found rooms with décor better suited for a dungeon and rooms with equipment better suited for a torture chamber. In one room, water poured down from the ceiling, as if it were raining, and yet I couldn't shake the feeling that these raindrops were the tears of someone in the depths of despair. This was not a place for the living.

My feeling of dread grew with each new sight, and every time I returned to the hall, I had to fight the urge to flee. After a while, the only thing that kept me going into each new room was the fact that I had found a locked door. Somehow, finding a door that refused to open had filled me with hope. I knew how these worlds worked now. Eileen would be behind that door. All I had to do was find a key.

Sometimes I thought I saw her or heard her voice. When I turned, I saw nothing—or worse yet, I saw something that was not Eileen at all, a ghastly phantasm that faded when I hid my face. There were other whispers as well, accompanied by shapes barely seen in the corner of my eye. I soon developed the morbid fancy that the ghosts that chased me were now following me at a distance, waiting for a moment to strike. The voices were always too quiet for me to make out who they were, but a sense of familiarity hung around each one, further convincing me that they belonged to my ghosts.

"Just stay away," I whispered in the hallway, my throat feeling dry. "Don't stop me when I'm trying to save Eileen. Stay away, all of you!"

At last, I found a room that contained a key. It rested in the fangs of the statue of a coiled cobra. I ran towards it with a sigh of relief. Snatching the key away from the statue, I had just turned to go when a cage crashed down around me, leaving barely enough room for both me and the snake.

I shouted and grabbed the bars, feeling panicked. I did not like to be trapped. Trapped here inside the Otherworld…I was in a cage within a cage. A hysterical giggle escaped me, and I clutched the key against my chest. I was locked in, but I had a key. The irony was painful. If only I had found another key first. Unless…

"Every lock has a key and every key has a lock," I said, holding up the key and eyeing it curiously. "I have a key, and I have a lock."

It was unlikely that it would work, but I would never know unless I tried. I located the lock on the cage door and tried the key. It fit, and I escaped out into the room. Keeping the key, I marched back out into the hall without looking back.

The dizzying feeling struck me again, but it wasn't strong enough to compete with the adrenaline running through me. I had escaped and found a key. Now I would be able to get into Eileen's room. I ran across the hall and tried the key. It worked again. My sudden change in luck was astounding. Suddenly nervous and afraid I might find her already dead, I opened the door a crack and looked in.

Shocked at what I saw, I opened it completely and walked inside. The room was dingy, but by far the most normal room I had seen here. A tray, as if for food, rested on top of a metal cart near me. The bed along the fall wall was worn and stained—and empty. Eileen was nowhere to be seen.

A groan escaped me, and I fell to my knees.

"Where are you?" I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain in my head.

_"I remember now…"_ At the sound of Eileen's pained voice, I opened my eyes and looked around, but I was still alone. I shivered. This was not a hallucination I had expected. _"I was getting ready to go to my friend's party… The boy protected me from the man with the coat…"_

I stood up slowly. What did that mean? Was she talking about the attack? Had Eileen been here, even though she wasn't here now? If a little boy had protected her, who was he? I thought of the little boy I had seen in the apartment building, but that was impossible. He wasn't even a ghost. A memory couldn't defend someone. But if that wasn't it, then what was the answer?

Was it a trick?

"I can't trust the hallucinations," I whispered, giving the room a final look. Something about it seemed safe, and I wished I could stay instead of returning to the hallway. But I had to find her. "This is his world. I can't trust these voices to tell me the truth."

I left the room, and I no longer had the will to fully resist the effect the area had on me. In a trance-like state, I looked around the hallway, dimly aware that there had to be something I had missed. At last I saw doors I had not approached—elevator doors. The place was so rundown and dreary, I doubted that they would work. But I supposed I had to try.

I drifted over to the elevator doors and pressed the button. Something happened; I could hear the sound of the elevator moving. It did not appeal to me, even though I knew it should. Elevators were claustrophobic. I could all to easily imagine being trapped in one, especially in this place. Still, I fought the urge to run and waited, looking at the doors. The noise stopped. They remained shut.

The doors, at least, were broken.

_"There you are!"_

It was Eileen's voice. I cringed, wishing these hallucinations would stop. I turned anyway, not willing to risk that this time it was real. To my shock, she was standing there, as real as ever. She looked just as she had in the Apartment World before the ice came. Her arms were relaxed, she stood straight and unhindered, and when I searched her face, I found no trace of any bruises or cuts.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

I didn't answer, just circled around her slowly. I looked at her unblemished back and felt a cold chill creeping down my spine. This was like Cynthia all over again.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, turning around and giving me a puzzled frown. "You're looking at me so strangely…"

"Y-you were attacked," I stammered. "I—I saw it…"

"Attacked?" She drew away from me, eyes widening in alarm. "What are you talking about?"

"We were in the apartments when you found a doll," I said. "Then…something happened. The world changed, and we were separated. When I finally found you, you'd been beaten nearly to death! The ambulance brought you here!"

"You expect me to believe that?" she cried.

"Then what did happen?" I countered. "What happened after we met up and tried to escape?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know. All I remember is…being cold…so cold…"

My breath caught. Was she speaking of the ice? If that was the case, then how had I seen her being attacked when she didn't remember it happening?

"The next thing I remember is being here. I was looking for you, because I knew you had an idea of how to escape." She wrapped her arms around herself. "This place gives me the creeps. Something's not right here."

She could say that again. I felt as though I were going to pass out. She still saw the Otherworld and realized it was a place we had to escape from, but… "You don't remember being attacked at all?" I pressed.

Eileen let out a small laugh. "If I didn't trust you, I'd think you were making the whole thing up!"

"You trust me?" I asked, surprised.

"Shouldn't I?"

"I just didn't know we knew each other that well," I admitted. "My memories are still fairly spotty. The only concrete memories I have are about things that happened to me after being trapped in the room."

She folded her arms and muttered, "Well, at least I'm not the only one with memory problems." She cocked her head. "Do you suppose it could be something about this place?"

"Maybe," I said. "It makes sense, and it would suit the murderer's purposes to have his victims confused."

"Well, at least we're together. Safety in numbers, right?"

I nodded and tried to smile, but it twisted on my lips and faded away. "Unless the ice comes again."

"The ice?" she repeated, frowning at me.

"That's how we got separated in the apartment," I sighed. "I'm not sure how it happens, or why, but the world turns to ice around me. I'm always alone there, except for—" I swallowed hard, not sure I wanted to tell her about the ghosts. "I…the last time it happened, something made me think it happened because of the doll."

"Doll?" she asked.

"We found a doll in the apartment." I reached into my pocket hesitantly and pulled it out, staring at it. It didn't look like the sort of thing that would be connected to these sinister worlds in any way. "You said it was yours."

She held out her hand. "May I see it?"

I started to give it to her, but then I pulled back, clutching the doll against my chest. "No! What if it happens again?" I put the doll away as quickly as I could. "I just found you again. What does the doll matter? Once we get out of here, into the real world, I'll give you the doll. I promise."

"All right, if you think it could be dangerous."

"I do."

Relieved, I turned my attention back to the elevator for a second and then shook my head. "I don't think we're going to get out this way. Come on, let's see if we can find an exit. Maybe we can even find George."

"Who's George?" she asked, following me down the hall.

"You don't know?" I asked, disappointed. "He says he knows me, but with my amnesia, I just don't know… He seems to think this is the real world, but he's tried to help me find out what's going on. I think he's a good guy."

"And he's here in this hospital?"

"He might be," I said. "He sort of…disappeared."

"I hope we find him," she said with a smile.

We had reached the end of the hallway, so I opened the door and stepped aside so that Eileen could go through first. Once we had returned to the lobby, I tried the main doors and found them to be locked.

"It couldn't be that easy," Eileen said dryly.

I nodded. "Of course not. But there has to be a way out of here. We can't just wait around for the murderer to come and finish the job!"

"Finish the job," she repeated softly. "The job he started with an attack I don't remember…"

On an impulse, I reached out and took her hands in mine. "Eileen, try," I whispered. "One of us has to be wrong. Try to remember what happened after that cold feeling you had."

She was silent for a moment, and then she shook her head. "There's nothing. I've got nothing."

I nodded. As before, it couldn't be that easy. "All right, then try to remember the attack. If it really happened, maybe you can remember it even a little—a sense of fear, perhaps, or the murderer's hands."

Her brow furrowed and she shook her head again, but there was a distant look in her eyes, as if she was starting to remember something.

Encouraged, I continued, "He would have carved numbers into you with a knife. He's a member of the Order, the cult from Silent Hill. He's trying to complete a ritual by killing twenty-one people. You're his twentieth victim. Think, Eileen, think! He came after you in the apartment…you were in your room. The door wasn't forced, so either he appeared suddenly, like a ghost, or he knocked. You saw his face…"

"Walter!" she gasped, the name escaping her in a breathless cry. She pulled her hands free of mine to cover her mouth as her eyes widened in horror and fear.

"That's it! That's his name, Walter! Walter Sullivan!"

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, raising her hands as if to shield herself from some untold terror—or perhaps from a memory. "N-no…"

"Eileen, it's all right! I'm here! I'll protect you!" I shouted, but my voice sounded as though it were coming from the end of a long tunnel. The edges of my vision were darkening, and sudden dizziness made me stretch out my hand, afraid that I would fall.

There was nothing for my hand to catch for support. I tumbled forward and the world faded. I recognized the signs of returning to Room 302, and I realized with a jolt of despair that after promising to protect her, I was leaving Eileen alone in the hospital.

* * *

_Author's note: If you looked at the opening quote and thought, "I don't remember a Dr. Woodard in the movie," then you should know that it's because the quote is from the _show_ Dark Shadows, from years and years ago. The _original_ Dark Shadows! While I hated the movie, I have become absolutely obsessed with the show. It has become my favorite thing in the world, and if Jonathan Frid were still alive, I would be desperately trying to meet him. The point to all of this rambling is that you should watch the show, too! (You might want to start with episode 210.) After all, if you're reading this, you must enjoy my method of storytelling, so surely you want to understand the stories that I love and am inspired by... ^_^_

_And if you noticed the random Mass Effect reference...I just couldn't help it._

_Also, I have been published again! As if the Christmas excitement wasn't enough to hold me over for a while, my comedy novella _The Accidental Zombie_ is now out. :D _

_That's it for now. Keep letting me know your thoughts, and stay tuned next Wednesday!_


	13. Chapter 13: Descent

"_You could take me higher,  
__so you said; I trusted you.  
__I may be a liar, but betrayal lies on you."  
_-Kamelot, "The Black Halo"

Chapter 13: Descent

I sat up in the apartment, and for a moment I thought the flesh of the walls had cracked open and were dripping blood. Then I blinked and the illusion vanished. They were just normal walls once again. Relieved, I swung my legs out of bed and stood up, stiff and aching. My head hurt terribly. I wanted to collapse in the bed and sleep until I felt better, but Eileen was still back in the Otherworld. I had to reach her and stay with her.

"You can't do this to me," I whispered, my eyes darting around the bedroom. "You can't pull me back here whenever you please!"

After a moment, I realized I wasn't going to get an answer, and after another moment, I wondered why that surprised and disappointed me so much.

A crashing sound from the living room stirred me out of my puzzled reverie, and I hurried to the door. As soon as I left the bedroom, my body tensed in response to the change I sensed. The air felt heavier than normal, and my skin crawled as I edged into the living room. The ceiling fan had fallen, hitting the floor and smashing. Looking around, I had the distinct feeling that the apartment was not the same as it had been when I had seen it last. My attention focused on the bare table beside the couch. Hadn't there been something there, once? I shook my head. Who could have robbed me at a time like this? The murderer would have no need to do such a thing.

"Probably just my imagination," I muttered, heading to the door to see if any new messages from Joseph had arrived.

To my delight, four red pages were there. I picked them up and turned my attention to the first one, which was wrapped around a hard object. When I unwrapped it, I found a small key. I smiled. That would save us some searching, whenever we encountered its matching lock. Then I read the page it had come with.

_You've seen that world as well…  
__That horrible nightmare.  
__But if you get pulled into it, it's not just a nightmare.  
__Don't get lost in there. If you get pulled in, you'll be killed.  
__But there's still hope.  
__Maybe this small key will guide you.  
__If you've seen the door with the placard set in it,  
__look on the other side of the door.  
__Then keep going down. To the deepest part of him.  
__And look for the  
Ultimate Truth.  
__July 20 –Joseph_

"Well, thank you, Joseph," I said, feeling a little confused. I still didn't understand how Joseph was sending me these things when I needed them, especially since when I had met him, he hadn't seemed to know what I was talking about. His note told me to go through a door with a placard in it. It sounded like he meant one of the ones I had already seen, but I didn't know how I would find them again.

I wondered what the placards had even been for, as they were still sitting in my item chest.

It didn't matter. What did matter was that Joseph had given me a goal—we had to go _down_. If that would help us escape, I wasn't sure, but the ultimate Truth sounded like something I very much needed to find. I was sick of not knowing what was real and what was false. I looked at the next note.

_Walter Sullivan  
did kill himself.  
__He died in his prison cell of blood loss after he  
__stabbed himself in the neck with a spoon.  
__His body was buried in a cemetery just outside his hometown of  
__Silent Hill, in an unmarked grave.  
__After that, his name became famous all over the world,  
__and it looked like his string of mass murders was finished at 10 out of 21.  
__But three years later, they found a corpse that had "12/21" carved into it.  
__The corpse was from 6 months earlier.  
__In other words, the person was killed two and half years  
__after Sullivan committed suicide.  
__The MO was exactly the same as Sullivan's.  
__Except for one thing.  
__All of Sullivan's victims were found with their hearts cut out  
__and their chest wounds sewn together expertly with thread.  
__The "12/21" victim, however, still had his heart.  
__Naturally, the police think it's a copycat and are proceeding on that basis.  
__But they haven't made any progress and recently discovered victim number 13.  
__This corpse also had its heart intact.  
__The police still haven't identified a suspect. I've got a working hypothesis.  
__Very few people knew the details of the original crimes,  
__and would be able to copy Sullivan's MO  
so precisely.  
__First I'll head to Silent Hill, to the graveyard near the lake.  
__Maybe I'll find the answer there.  
__June 11_

My mouth was dry by the time I finished reading. Joseph had discussed this matter before, but he hadn't gone into quite as much detail then. So only the first ten victims had had their hearts cut out…the ten hearts of the ritual… And Joseph had gone to the graveyard in Silent Hill. I knew the graveyard he was talking about, because I had been there myself. I still remembered the grave, and the coffin marked _11/21_.

I reminded myself that I had already come to the same conclusions that he was leading up to, but I couldn't shake my uneasiness. There was something about the way he described the murderer's death that gave me pause. It wasn't just that he had killed himself with a spoon; I could see that being a viable, albeit slow, method of death. Yet something about it felt wrong to me.

Something inside of me kept saying that his death had come at another time…in another place…

I kept reading, hoping Joseph would have the answer.

_How long has it been since I left  
this room?  
__I can't tell if it's been days or hours…  
__But during that time, they've found the body of "14/21."  
__I've been having hallucinations lately.  
__I think I'm losing my mind._

I wondered if his hallucinations had been the same as mine. I would have to ask him when I saw him again. He had seemed perfectly sane, so perhaps he could help me keep a grip on my sanity in the face of everything that was happening.

There was only one note left, so I read it.

_The weather that day was very strange.  
__Even though I avoided the earlier storm,  
__there was a thick fog clinging to everything.  
__Fortunately, that allowed me to avoid being seen and get right to work.  
__The police are still stubbornly acting as if it's just a copycat case.  
__So I figured things probably hadn't been touched here.  
__But I was wrong.  
__I should have come sooner. The cemetery was in such bad condition  
__that it was almost sad. The storm must have raised the sea level.  
__Anyway, that's how it was when I found  
__Walter Sullivan's grave.  
__I'm still in shock… There was no body in the grave…  
__And on top of that, written on the coffin was "11/21."  
__June 14_

I nodded with a heavy sigh. That was what I had expected. The murderer was not in his grave at all, if he had ever been there to start with. I wondered whether he had really died and allowed himself to be buried so that he could later leave the grave, like the vampires of folklore, or was there something else at work here?

Somehow, he had come to be ruling these Otherworlds, but it seemed clear that first he had died. He was one of his own victims, the eleventh, and only his death could account for both that and the supernatural elements of the later crimes. But had it really happened in that prison cell? Would that be enough for…

"The Holy Assumption?" I asked out loud. "Be then released from the bonds of the flesh?"

Answers, whatever they might be, would not be found here in the apartment. Gathering my nerve, I returned to the hole and climbed through.

xXx

In the darkness following my last conscious thought of the tunnel, I was aware of nothing more than an overwhelming sense of fear, pressing down on me and crushing me. I couldn't breathe; panic kept me tense and ready to run. When I finally opened my eyes and saw the hospital, the fear spiked and I looked around for a place to run. Instead, I found myself looking at a wide-eyed Eileen.

"Eileen!" I gasped. "What's going on? Is…he here?"

"What are you talking about now?" she asked, sounding shaky. "You just disappeared all of a sudden! I was left here all alone, in this horrible place!"

Relief filled me and gradually replaced my fear. I shook my head. "I'm sorry. Sometimes… I find myself back at the apartment and have to climb through the hole again to get back."

She wrapped her arms around herself and looked down at the ground. "Is there any way you can control it?"

"I don't think so. I'm never expecting it; it just happens, like the ice."

"Something bad is going to happen," she whispered, walking away from the elevator and looking down the hall. "I can feel it in the air. There's something hanging over us. Something we can't escape."

I swallowed hard at her words. "Don't say things like that, Eileen. We'll find a way out of this. We've just got to keep moving."

She met my gaze and took a deep breath before giving a resolute nod. "You're right. Let's start by leaving this hospital."

"The elevator doors are broken," I said, hurrying down the hall towards the door I had originally entered from, "so we'll have to try the lobby. Maybe we'll even find George."

Eileen was silent as we made our way to the lobby, and multiple times I saw her glance over her shoulder or rub her arms uneasily. Her discomfort did nothing for my own well-being. Now that I knew the fear I had encountered in this hallway had not just been my imagination, I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. It was as if we were walking into a trap, knowing we were in grave danger with every step, yet unable to deviate from the deadly path fate had set out for us. It had to be a result of his work… It had to be a result of the cult.

The ominous feeling lessened, but didn't entirely fade, when we left the hallway. I looked around. The area was empty, although now I was convinced that I was being watched. I had the sudden image of the murderer using some fiendish cult magic to spy on us, waiting for the moment when he would spring his trap, and I shivered.

"George?" I called, stepping away from the door. "Are you here?" There was no answer. I turned back to Eileen. "He probably left or woke up, whatever it is he does."

She frowned, and a crease appeared in her forehead as she studied me. "Shouldn't we search for him, just in case?"

That hadn't occurred to me. I blinked at her, suddenly feeling guilty. I was so used to George's nonchalance about the Otherworlds that it was getting easy to forget that he was in as much danger as we were when he was here. "You're right," I muttered. "Let's go."

My memories of the hospital were vague. I knew I had only been in a couple of the rooms, but none of what I saw now really looked familiar. We searched the room that I could have sworn was the one I had woken up in, but it seemed smaller. Blood stained the walls and floors, but the corpse that had startled me was gone. I tried to focus my thoughts in on something that could explain what had happened—we were in a different section of the hospital, or this wasn't the room I thought it was—but nothing seemed to add up.

We searched the office where I had questioned George about the Order, and I noticed that there was only one chair now. Something about it that I couldn't quite place seemed subtly off, as well. When we left it and began to look around the other rooms, my heart was pounding. What was going on here? This had to be the same place. Could the Otherworlds change while we were still in them?

There was no sign of George anywhere. Within a few minutes we were back in the lobby, having searched everywhere. Privately, I was a little relieved. I now wanted nothing more than to get out of this place, and if he were with us, I was sure he would be arguing that the hospital was the best place for me to be.

Unfortunately, I could see no way to get out. I went to the big doors at the end of the room and tried to open them, but they wouldn't budge no matter what I did. I rested my head against them, giving up, and I had to resist the urge to let a hysterical laugh escape me. The idea of escape, once so real, was starting to feel like an impossible dream. We would be trapped here, going from Otherworld to Otherworld, until the murderer finally caught us.

"But I won't give up," I growled under my breath. "I won't let him kill me without a fight."

"Hey, come take a look at this!" Eileen called.

I turned and walked over to where she was standing by where the elevator had been previously. Now that it was gone, I could see that there was a new area there. The opening was small; we would both have to crawl to fit get through, but I could see a door back there. Taking a deep breath, I crouched and crawled inside. Once there, it was high enough that I could stand up, and I tried the door. It was locked.

"What are we going to do now?" Eileen asked from right behind me.

I jumped, not expecting her to have followed me so quickly. "I have a key," I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the small key that had been pushed under my door. "Joseph gave it to me."

"Joseph?"

To my relief, it fit the lock. "Joseph Schreiber. I've seen him here, but I'm not sure if it's him trying to help me or if it's his past self…somehow."

"I don't understand…"

"Neither do I," I admitted. "But sometimes it's the only thing that seems to make any sense." I took a deep breath and opened the door. A set of stairs was beyond, leading downwards to another door. I turned my head to look back at her. "Should we see what's down there?"

"Do you have a better idea?" Eileen asked, arching her eyebrows.

"No."

"Then we have nothing to lose."

I nodded, but as I began the descent down the narrow staircase, I couldn't help but feel that we were being herded straight into the clutches of disaster.

xXx

When I saw the fog, I stopped in my tracks, thinking about Silent Hill. I didn't like that we were blindly following the path laid out before us. Something terrible was going to happen, I could feel it.

Eileen bumped into me from behind. "What is it?"

I shook my head and started walking again. "Nothing."

The steps turned to metal as we pushed further into the fog, and our footsteps echoed through the cold air. The staircase looked old and rickety, and the wall to the right was bloodstained and crumbling. I peered over the edge and saw nothing but fog and distant steps below us. There was nothing to suggest that the staircase was held up by anything; it was suspended in the fog, spiraling downwards. Feeling lonely and insignificant, I glanced back to make sure Eileen was still with me and then took a few more steps forward, determined to see this thing through to the end. Even if it was a trap, we had nowhere else to go.

Eileen let out a sudden cry and grabbed my arm. "Look!"

"What is it?" I asked, looking back at her.

Her eyes were wide with horror as she pointed. I looked around in alarm before finally seeing the object that had so alarmed her. A rusted cage was just barely visible in the fog ahead of us, and a bloody corpse was trapped inside of it. I edged closer, seeing to my relief that it was alongside the staircase instead of on it. The corpse was bloated and featureless, held upright by the narrow prison that encircled it. I turned away from it, feeling disturbed, and I realized that it wasn't the only one. Other cages with their own dead contents were scattered throughout the fog.

"We have to keep going," I said.

"I…I know. You're right."

As we resumed walking, I shivered again. I didn't like this place at all, and I didn't like that the fog made it so hard to see. What sort of a place was this? Every step took us lower, and I remembered that Joseph's note had told me to go down to the deepest part and find the Ultimate Truth. I still didn't understand what that meant, but at least it looked like we were on the right track. Except… This had to be a part of the Otherworlds, especially with the creepy fog. That meant we were still in the murderer's realm and subject to his power. Why would he be guiding us in the right direction?

_What is this "truth" we're seeking?_ I wondered suddenly. I had thought it would be the answer to escaping, but now I wasn't so sure that made any sense. Joseph had been here longer than I had, so why hadn't he already escaped, if he knew so much? How had he survived here for so long at all? _If he _is_ alive…_

The thought that Joseph might be a ghost startled me almost as much as my growing suspicion that I should not trust him. Too much of my knowledge came from him. I knew that I shouldn't believe things I learned in this world, so why would notes from a stranger—a stranger who had nearly _shot_ me, I reminded myself—be excluded? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that almost all of the inconsistencies that troubled me so much tied back to Joseph's notes. Whenever I raised points that George objected to, my knowledge came from things I had either learned in the Otherworlds or that Joseph had written in his diary and mysteriously delivered to me.

_Can _George_ be trusted?_

George's knowledge about the cult troubled me more than anything else so far. Perhaps it would be better if I didn't trust either of them. I would rely only upon the things I could see with my own eyes. Unfortunately, none of that changed the fact that we had no way of breaking free from the path that had been placed before us.

After what seemed like forever, the staircase finally wound to an end. The wall here was sturdier, and a rusted door sat waiting. The cult's symbol marked it, and I felt a shiver of dread creep up my spine. Steeling my nerve, I opened it and walked into darkness. My eyes adjusted after a moment, and I realized that we were in a small room. Metal shelves to my right were mostly empty, but something about the cracked, fading walls struck me as familiar. The unshakable déjà vu troubled me as I walked over to the door on the other side of the room, but as soon as I opened it, I understood.

I was back in the Subway World.

"Is this…South Ashfield Station?" Eileen asked, following me out into the hallway and looking at the bloodstained floor beneath our feet. It glistened wetly, and she let out a startled cry as the fresh blood got onto her shoes.

"It's another Otherworld," I said, walking ahead and looking around. Something about this place had changed since I had walked through it with Cynthia, and I didn't like that at all. I had to learn the truth about the forces that were at work here, no matter what it took. "This is the subway station through the eyes of a madman." The blood was new, of course, and every now and then, a barely-perceptible quiver ran through the walls. The peeling posters that covered the walls all had the same image on them—some sort of demon with a blank face, stitches sewing his mouth closed, and the ceremonial robes of the Order. It felt as if his eyeless gaze was boring into my head, and it was with great difficulty that I tore my mind back to the task at hand. "I think we need to return to the murder scene. I…"

The walls were dripping blood. Red rivulets trickled gently down, forming the Halo of the Sun above the posters, from which the monster—the demon—the angel?—_Valtiel_ glared out at me. The building trembled again, and the cult's symbols pulsed around me. I gasped for breath, feeling like they were closing in on me. I was trapped; they were everywhere I looked. Valtiel was moving closer and closer, until I expected him to break free of his poster and grab me. Was he even constrained by the paper any longer? He was twitching in front of me, reaching out towards me…

My throat constricted, and I choked. I fell to my knees in the blood, and my vision went red and then black before returning to normal. Chanting and whispering filled my ears. I looked up and saw several figures walking towards me, but icy fog curled down from the walls and surrounded me, obscuring my vision. Shakily, I got to my feet. I could still hear the chanting; it had to be the cult coming to get me. I had to run, but in which direction?

"The 21 Sacraments must be performed…" The voice echoed, seeming to come from all around me at once, and I raised my hands as if to shield myself. Where were they? Who was speaking? "The Holy Mother must come to cleanse the world!"

"N-no!" I stammered, stumbling backwards through the fog. "I'll stop it!"

"You cannot stop it…" It was a familiar voice. I strained my ears, trying to identify it. If only the fog wasn't blocking my vision. "It is too late…"

"Why?" I shouted. "Why is it too late?"

"The Ultimate Truth will destroy the life you have made for yourself! Turn from your path and escape! It is the only way!"

"Escape?" I demanded, clenching my hands into fists. "Even if I believed you, there's only one path! I don't have a choice! How do you expect me to get out of here?"

A hand grabbed my shoulder from behind. I yelled and spun around, throwing my assailant away from me with all my strength. Cynthia cried out as she was flung away from me, losing her balance in her high heels and falling to the floor of the subway station. I stared at her in shock and then looked around. The fog and the figures I had seen coming towards me were gone, and so was Eileen. The walls had returned to normal, and none of the posters I could see had Valtiel on them.

"You idiot!" Cynthia got to her feet and glared at me, brushing dust off of her short skirt. "Why do you always have to pick our dates to wig out?"

"I'm sorry," I gasped, feeling disoriented and confused. "I was…distracted by the… Cynthia, did you see who it was? Who was talking?"

She put her hands on her hips. "_You_ were talking, staring off into space and rambling about how you didn't know how to get out of here. Honestly, how can you of all people get lost in the subway station?"

"I'm not lost," I said, "I just… Eileen! Where's Eileen?"

"Are you still after her? Man, give it a rest. Don't you know when to quit?"

"This isn't some sort of game! She was standing right behind me, but now she's gone!"

Cynthia snorted. "She probably ditched you when you started screaming at the walls. I know I would have."

"You don't understand," I said, trying to remain calm. "We're in great danger. I need to find her!"

She sniffed. "Well, suit yourself. I'll find someone else to take me out." She strutted past me with her nose in the air, and I watched her go in silence, wondering if she really saw nothing besides the normal subway station.

As I watched her go, I realized that I was going to be all alone again. I had no idea where Eileen might be, and I only had a vague idea of where to go from here. Besides that, the murderer was still out there, and one if not both of us was on his list of intended victims. The logical thing to do was to stick together.

"Wait!" I shouted, catching up with her. "We shouldn't split up."

"I knew you'd see things my way."

I disliked her tone and the smirk on her face, but I hurried after her. She was walking briskly towards the turnstiles, but she eventually slowed long enough for me to catch up. The station looked a lot cleaner than I remembered. If it wasn't for the complete lack of people, I could have begun to believe that everything was normal. Even the posters were no longer faded and peeling, but were crisp advertisements for various locations and products. A dramatic shift had come over the station while I was being tormented by the cult's demon.

A shiver passed through me. Was it a trick of the Otherworld, or was there still a chance that I had imagined everything else? For a moment, I thought I felt eyes on me, but when I turned around, there was no one in sight. Uneasy, I dismissed it as hopefully being just my imagination.

Something about the subway still wasn't right. As we walked down the hall, I tried to pay closer attention to the posters' contents, instead of just their pristine condition. Most of them were ads for tourist spots in Silent Hill. I told myself that that made perfect sense, as Silent Hill was a resort location quite close to South Ashfield. One had a picture of Toluca Lake on it, another had a picture of a church, and another, the lighthouse. There were a few others, but the images were blurred and confusing. Others were ads for products; I saw multiple posters for something called "Bikkuri Cars," and a few for chocolate milk and wine. Something about them seemed off, like they weren't normal posters to be in the station. Yet for the life of me, I couldn't think of anything that would be more appropriate.

I lagged behind slightly, trying to figure out what was wrong with this place. No matter how hard it pretended to be normal, it just _wasn't._ The posters at the end of the hall were different. They were just as clean and new as the others, but the images and text on them seemed faded and dirty, making an odd contrast. I cocked my head, trying to figure out what it was about these ones that bothered me. They were just ads for commonplace things like stores and services, but something about them made me uncertain…

"What are you doing?" Cynthia demanded from right beside me, having returned while I was lost in thought. Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed my arm so tightly that her nails dug into my skin, and she pulled me away from the wall. "Do you practice acting like a lunatic, or does it just come naturally?"

I yanked my arm away from her, feeling heat rising to my face in a mix of embarrassment and fury. "There's something _wrong_ with this place, Cynthia! We can't stay here!"

"I know we can't," she said, staring into my eyes and speaking very slowly. "That's why we're going to the King Street Line and getting out of here."

For a moment, I was convinced, but then my concentration wavered, and I found myself looking back towards the posters. "Eileen… I can't just leave her here…"

"_Eileen,_ oh Eileen, I can't leave without Eileen," Cynthia mimicked, shooting me a glare as if she wanted to kill me. "If I were you, I'd think very carefully about what's best for your future." Tossing her hair with a sniff, she rushed away from me down the hallway.

I stared after her in shock for a moment until I remembered some of the things she had said in the Apartment World. Flushing again, I raced after her. "Cynthia! It's nothing like that. I mean, whatever we are—you and I, I mean—it's different with Eileen. I just want to help her."

She increased her pace, forcing me to run to keep pace with her.

"At least help me!" I exclaimed, feeling wretched. "My memory…it's been terrible lately. I don't remember anything from before I was trapped in my room." I sighed and shook my head. "But you don't even believe that, do you? You think I'm crazy, or making the whole thing up."

She paused and glanced towards me. "You really don't remember me, do you?"

"When I met you here last time, I honestly thought you were a stranger." I looked at the ground. "Eileen? I just knew her as my neighbor. George and Jasper, I didn't remember seeing before at all… All of you know me, and I feel like I don't know anything at all."

Cynthia slowed down so that she could walk next to me and put her hand on my arm. "It'll be all right. You just need to get out of this place."

"You can say that again," I muttered. That strange feeling of being watched came over me again, even though the hallways still were deserted except for the two of us. "I feel like I'm being followed…or hunted."

"We're almost out of here. Everything will be fine."

Wanting to believe her, I let her lead the way to the turnstiles. They were so clean that they shone, and everything looked like it was about ready to start up again at a moment's notice. We could have been in the real world, somehow in the subway station while it was closed. The silence that had filled the air previously was gone as well. There was a strange sound in the distance, and I strained to hear it. It was soft… A chill ran through me as I realized it was the sound of a woman weeping.

"What's wrong this time?" Cynthia asked from where she was standing by the King Street turnstile, a ticket in her hand.

"Where is she…?"

"Are you still looking for Eileen?"

"That woman…she's hurt, she's in pain," I said distantly, wandering around the room as I tried to locate the source of the noise. The disembodied sobs made me feel small and afraid. Some part of me argued that I didn't want to find her and know why she was crying. Yet the sound tugged at my heart. I knew what it was to be alone, scared, needing protection and comfort but seeing no one who would help. Where was she?

"There's no one here!" Cynthia cried. She ran towards me and put her hands on my shoulders. "Do you understand? There's no one here!"

"You're right," I said quietly, my shoulders slumping from unhappiness that I could not find this person. "She must be somewhere else. Or…or maybe I'm just imagining it…"

She took my hand and guided me towards the turnstile. I followed her through without complaint, but once I saw where we were, I froze. She was already heading down the stairs, but the door off to the side… When I had last seen it, it had been marked with a placard. The icy world had faded away, and I had gone inside to find Cynthia on the brink of death.

_If you've seen the door with the placard set in it, look on the other side of the door._

"Cynthia, wait!" I called.

She turned around and regarded me with a frown.

"I need to see what's in here."

"Why?"

I hesitated. I couldn't tell her it was where she had been murdered, or she would never take me seriously again. "I just know I have to go in there. There was a placard on the door before, and Joseph said—"

"Joseph?" she asked, her frown deepening.

"His name's Joseph Schreiber. He—"

Cynthia burst out laughing, although when she saw my affronted look, she put her hand over her mouth and unsuccessfully tried to compose herself. She blinked several times and moved her hand away, but then the corners of her mouth twitched and she started laughing again.

Losing patience, I turned away from her and tried the door. It was locked. With a groan, I let my head fall forward against the cold wall. Was nothing going to go right?

"Hey, don't feel so bad," Cynthia said. "You still can come with me, and that room probably isn't that important for you anyway, if all you have is that crackpot's word on it."

My head snapped up. "Joseph Schreiber is not a crackpot!"

A giggle escaped her. "Okay, if I said _anything_ that made you think I didn't believe you about your memory issues, I take it back. You've convinced me." She winked and started trotting down the stairs.

I gave the door a final glance and then hurried after her, a confused terror creeping through me. "What was that you were saying about Joseph? I thought he was an esteemed journalist and investigator."

"What made you think that?"

"I… Well, George told me," I said, deciding it was best not to mention that I was receiving pieces of Joseph's diary under my door.

"Maybe you misunderstood him," she said with a laugh. At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped and turned to me as if making sure I was still with her, and then she continued walking. "When I called Schreiber a crackpot, I didn't mean that he's incompetent or anything. He probably knows his business, but that makes it even worse. He's just nuts. Not the kind of nuts where he thinks he's Theodore Roosevelt or sees things no one else can see, but the kind of nuts where he really shouldn't be allowed to communicate with the public."

"Are you saying he's corrupt?" I asked, stunned.

She was silent until we reached the top of the escalator, and then she turned and fixed me with a serious look. "I'm saying that you can't trust him. If he tells you something…well, I'd think twice before believing it, and I'd think a _third_ time before acting on it."

I rode the escalator in silence, feeling as though my whole world had been torn apart. Joseph, untrustworthy? Yes, I had had my own suspicions…but if he couldn't be trusted, what was I going to do? He was my only guide. He had somehow survived the Otherworlds… Almost all of my information came from him, and if he was false, I was left floundering in the dark—and, I realized with a shudder of apprehension, I couldn't trust anything I knew, because I was unable to disentangle which beliefs were from my own observations and which were from Joseph's notes.

"Come on," Cynthia said at the bottom. "We'll be out of here in no time."

She set off down the hallway, and I followed, feeling a desperate hope rising up inside of me. Every escape had been denied me so far, but perhaps this was finally the end. As delusional as she was about this world, maybe she was right about this. My need for it to be true was almost overpowering, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. To think that escape might be within my reach…

_What about Eileen?_

Cynthia marched towards an open car, and I didn't slow down. A part of me argued that I had turned back from escape once, in the Apartment World, and my way was blocked. The same thing might happen again if I hesitated. Eileen wouldn't have just run off. Something must have happened to her, and I would find her somewhere else, just like when she had disappeared in the apartments.

_When she was nearly killed._

I started to slow as we neared the front of the train. Maybe I could convince Cynthia to wait just a little longer. I opened my mouth to call out to her, but then the sound of weeping filled the air. I ducked and looked around, startled. We were still alone, but the sound was even louder now than it had been by the turnstile. I walked forward slowly, and then I noticed a doorway to my right. It led out of the train, down a narrow set of steps, to a dark door that somehow felt like it was calling to me. What if Eileen had gone that way?

And…that was where the weeping was coming from.

"No!" Cynthia cried, running towards me. "Where are you going? Just let me get the train started, and we'll be out of here!"

I ignored her and started walking down the steps, feeling almost hypnotized. I could hear her, whoever she was, even more clearly than I had before. Her sobs sounded like they were coming from all around, and as I took another step, I wondered if it could be Eileen. She might be on the other side of that door, being hurt by the murderer again! I hesitated. No, it didn't sound like Eileen. It was someone else. But who could it be? And why was she crying? I had to know…

"_Henry!_"

Startled, I whirled around and saw Cynthia staring at me, reaching her hand out. My heart was pounding as I looked at her and then looked back at the door.

"Don't go down there! It's dangerous!"

She was right. I had no idea what might lie behind that door. It might even be a trick. But the woman was still crying… I had to find her. I had to know what had happened to her. I had to know…

"I have to know!" I shouted, racing down the last few steps.

Cynthia's wail of despair followed me as I burst through the door. It slammed shut behind me, and I jumped. I was in a plain, gray hallway, and someone was walking towards me from the other end. I squinted, trying to see who it was. It wasn't the woman. It was a man, but I couldn't quite tell who he was.

I took a step forward, and as my foot touched the floor, ice spread outwards from that spot to consume the world around me.


	14. Chapter 14: Hunted

"_Are my eyes too blind  
__to find illusions from deep inside, growing?  
__What I lost to find,  
__and what I find brings me here."  
_-Akira Yamaoka, "When You're Gone"

Chapter 14: Hunted

The cold struck me more sharply than it ever had before, piercing my skin and making me gasp in pain. The figure was out of sight, obscured by a wall of ice that had sprung up between us. I turned around, but the door I had come from was frozen over and unreachable. Rubbing my arms to try to reduce the cold, I looked around. I could still hear sobbing.

"Hello?" My voice sounded weak and strange, as if the icy chamber was swallowing it up. I moved forward slowly. "Is someone here?"

The floor was slippery, and I nearly lost my footing. Taking careful steps, I realized that the sound was coming from the other side of the icy wall. Once I reached it, I examined it from top to bottom. There were no cracks and nothing to suggest a way of getting to the other side. The room was solid, inescapable.

Fear struck me. Trapped. Truly honestly trapped, just like in the room, except that here there was no door at all anymore.

"Let me out of here!" I gasped, not sure who I was addressing. There was no chance that the murderer would listen to me. "Please! Let me out!"

_It's safer here._

I spun around, wondering who had spoken. No one was in sight, and I swallowed hard. Was it a ghost? No, the ghosts had an actual presence. This voice was different, more human. It had to be another hallucination. But…was the hallucination actually speaking to me this time?

"Hello?" I asked uncertainly. "Please, who are you?"

_Stay here. They will come for you._

"I don't want anyone to come for me!" I cried, feeling a jolt of panic. Who would come for me? The cult? I could just imagine them creeping into the room, wearing their robes and staring at me like they wanted to kill me, or worse. No, I wouldn't stay here and wait around for them. I would never go with them.

_Turn back from your quest for the Ultimate Truth._

"I can't," I whispered. "That's where I have to go. It's the only way I can make this stop. It's the only way I can save myself, and Eileen!"

_That's what Joseph said. But Cynthia said Joseph is crazy._

I hesitated. I was no longer sure what made sense and what didn't. Could this possibly be right? "What can I do, if I don't go forward?"

_Your friends will come for you and show you the way back._

"And…what does that mean?"

_You will be free. You will walk out into South Ashfield and never have to worry about the Otherworlds again._

My heart leapt, and sudden excitement filled me with warmth almost strong enough to combat the ice around me. "And Eileen?"

There was a long silence before the strange voice spoke again. _She cannot follow you there._

"Why not?" I asked, feeling my hope crack and threaten to shatter. "I can't leave without her!"

_She and Joseph will never turn back. They will press on and on until they reach the horrible end that awaits them, and they want you to go with them. That is who they are. You cannot convince them otherwise. They cannot exist if they deny themselves, and so they will always press onwards._

The temptation was so great that I put my head in my hands and ground my teeth together. "If I could just talk to Eileen," I began, but I never finished the statement. I didn't have to talk to Eileen to know what her answer would be. I could see her in my mind and hear her words. She would say that we couldn't trust this world, and that such an easy escape might be a trap. And she was right. She would say that Joseph was the one we had to trust, because he had survived here for so long. We had to move forward.

"I don't trust you!" I shouted at the voice. "You're a murderer! You just want to trick me so that you can kill me! Well I won't listen, and I'm not turning back! I'm going to go forward! Forward, do you hear me?"

The whole room shuddered, and cracks appeared in the ice in front of me. As dark lines, they appeared one after the other, forming jagged letters.

_You'll never find the Ultimate Truth  
__There are those who would  
__KILL  
__The answer lies in the numbers of the rooms_

"The numbers of the rooms?" I read out loud, frowning at it. The rest made perfect sense, as I knew very well that this was a dangerous place, but what did that part mean?

As I stared at the message, more cracks formed, obscuring the words. The ice cracked and cracked until pieces started splinting off. Soon I was forced to retreat backwards, shielding my face as ice fragments pelted me. When it finally died down, the backs of my hands were cut from the battering they had taken, dripping with blood. I pressed them against my shirt, trying to stop the bleeding.

A jagged archway had formed in the wall of ice, a door leading to an icy chamber beyond. On either side of the door, a large _1_ was printed. Yet some deep instinct I could not explain told me they marked the room I was in, and not the room I was entering. They signaled not a welcome, but a farewell.

"The number of rooms," I muttered. "Very well, _one._"

I crossed through into the next area, and the weeping got louder as I did so. The second room was a terrifying mess of icy crystals that looked like they could impale a person, on the floor, ceiling, and even the walls. My skin crawled at the thought that they might all start moving towards me at once, pulverizing me and splattering my insides across the ice. But I inched forward anyway, both because I knew I had to go on, and because a woman was huddled between two of the crystals.

"Who are you?" I asked. She was lying on the ground, sobbing. Her long, black hair covered the ice around her. As I approached, I saw that she was extremely pale. Her arms were so white that I could see each dark vein. I almost imagined I could see the blood flowing through her, if there was even any blood left. "Can you hear me?"

Her delicate arms strained as she tried to get up. Her head lifted, and I saw a face beneath the flowing hair. Bloodless lips, soulless eyes, and features that I knew I recognized from somewhere. She rose slowly, and I saw that her shirt and skirt were torn and covered in blood. She wailed and drifted towards me, not touching the ground. Pain assaulted my body.

A strangled cry escaped me as I realized she was one of the ghosts. I backed up, trying to see her face, needing to know why I recognized her… She lunged towards me, and I realized it was Cynthia.

My heart stopped for a moment. No. That was impossible. Cynthia had been with me when I first heard the woman sobbing. It couldn't be her. Cynthia was alive, _alive_—even if I had seen her murdered, she had to be alive. If she wasn't, who was the woman who looked just like her?

Dazed by my confusion, I lost track of the danger I was in and let her get too close to me. With a wail, she darted towards me, hand extended. For a moment, I felt her hand on my chest, and then she had plunged through me like only a ghost could. Pain bloomed outwards from the point of impacted, and an icy chill closed around my heart along with her hand. I struggled, staggering backwards, but she stayed with me. Her hair drifted through the air under its own power, and I flinched when it touched me. I grabbed her arm and tried to force her away from me; her cold touch inside of me was reaching an extreme and turning into a burning pain that made me choke.

Her eyes met mine, and I saw a trace of the Cynthia I had met in the subway station. Spots of blood marred her drawn face, and the glimmer in her eyes that had once been flirtatiousness now was a capricious desire to cause pain. As I gasped for breath and tried to force her hand out of me, she tightened her grip, sending shockwaves of agony through me. I couldn't breathe.

_No!_

With a last effort, I ripped her away from me and fell backwards. I struck the ground hard and nearly blacked out. Gulping air into my lungs, I shook myself, trying to clear my head before she attacked me again. She was already drifting closer.

I got to my feet with difficulty and looked around, trying to orient myself. I had to get to the next room…

I saw the door past the rows of jagged crystals and forced myself to move. She was following me; I knew she was… and worse yet, the wall to my right was bleeding and cracking, the hated, pasty face of Jimmy Stone emerging to glare at me. I told myself that I could make it. I was going to make it. I wouldn't let either of them touch me again.

He freed himself even as I reached the doorway, and he joined the chase, red robes of the Order billowing out behind him. He was whispering something barely audible, creating a susurrant harmony to Cynthia's continuing wails. I broke into a shaky run, reminding myself distantly that I had to count the rooms. This was the third.

Ice. There was nothing else of note. It was dark in areas and light in others, creating a spectral effect that would have been lovely if I wasn't in such a dire position. I could see the door, not straight ahead of me, but over in the corner of the wall to my left. The floor rippled and wobbled beneath my feet as I ran towards it, tossing me into the air. When I landed, my ankle twisted, and I gasped in pain. A quick glance over my shoulder showed me that Cynthia and Stone had been joined by a third ghost, and I kept moving anyway.

Fourth room. If there was anything to see, I missed it. All I was aware of was the stabbing pain that assaulted me with each step and the chill in my chest that had yet to diminish. I limped forward, telling myself that I had to go faster even if it hurt. I couldn't let them catch me.

The fifth room was not as straightforward as the others. I halted, gasping for breath as I looked around for the door. Everything looked the same—smooth, blue ice with currents of red running through it, like horrible veins feeding this place. I saw a passage leading off to the side just as a cold hand touched me from behind. Breaking into a sprint, I reached it and soon realized to my dismay that it was not the next room. Instead, a labyrinthine passage twisted around, forcing me to make several sharp turns as I struggled to reach the end.

A ghost burst out from the wall beside me, and a blast of heat assaulted me. I screamed as my hair and clothes caught on fire; I raced away from the ghost I dimly recognized as Jasper and batted at the flames. The skin of my hands blistered at the heat, but I managed to stifle the fire and keep going.

Just three more turns and I had reached the sixth room. This had the appearance of a frozen-over area, but as I stopped to try to see what objects had been concealed beneath the ice, my ghastly pursuers reached me at last, and I had to start running again. I felt dizzy, being assaulted by pain all over my body. Part of me whispered that I should just give up, but when I threw open an icy door and burst into the seventh room, the floor cracked beneath my feet.

The bloated ghost of the prison guard pulled itself up, mumbling something. I couldn't understand all of the words, but I made out _kill_ in there. With a grimace, I jumped around him, windmilling my arms to keep my balance, and I kept running.

How many of them were there? In the eighth room, three ghosts appeared suddenly in front of me, shooting towards me and grabbing me before I could move. I struggled, trying to get away from their clammy touches. They pinned me down, and I looked into their eyes. I thought maybe I should recognize them from somewhere—I wasn't sure where—but all my mind could latch onto was the look of utter ruthlessness. They were going to kill me, and there would be no reasoning with them.

Fighting as hard as I could, I managed to free my right hand. They lunged to grab me again, but my hand closed around the hilt of the sword I still carried. I pulled it free and threatened them with it, remembering that it was a weapon to be used against ghosts. They released me, backing up and raising their hands as if to ward away a blow. I turned my head and saw that the ghosts who had been chasing me from behind had stopped, as if not willing to approach me while I held the sword.

Grinning a manic grin, I raised it above my head like a torch and limped my way into the ninth room. The ghosts kept their distance; if one began to approach, I slashed the blade in its direction, causing it to retreat. I was safe, now, _safe._ Letting out a sigh of relief, I looked straight ahead, not wanting to study the ghosts any more than I had to. There were so many of them—could they all be the murderer's previous victims? If I understood correctly, that meant that there were nineteen. No, eighteen, unless the madman himself had joined them.

Halfway across the room, I paused and turned to look at them. Cynthia was supposed to be one of the victims, even though she seemed to be alive again, and her ghost was here. What else might I learn from looking at them? What if I saw Joseph's ghost?

They chose then to mob me, all rushing forward at once. I struck out with my sword and knocked several back, but there were still enough to grab me and dig their icy fingers into me. They were dragging me down, down to the ground and down into darkness. Still trying to knock them back with my sword, I managed to get my other hand into my pocket and around the revolver I had taken. I pulled it out and fired wildly, not sure it would have any effect even if I managed to hit something.

It was just enough.

The ghosts' hold on me lessened slightly, and I was able to fight my way free. I charged forward, running and fast as I could and gripping my weapons so tight that spasms of pain shot through my burned hands. They were right behind me, howling and wailing and whispering, gnashing their teeth and clutching at the air with their lifeless arms. If they caught me…

My lungs burned and it felt like there was a tremendous pressure on my chest. I choked for each breath as I made it into the tenth room and squeezed an extra burst of speed out of my aching legs. I could do this. It felt like it would kill me, but I could do it because the alternative was certain death at the hands of the ghosts. I could barely see; everything blurred together in my hazy vision. The next door was just a few feet away. I had to keep running. Another icy, burning breath. Choking, wheezing, but just enough energy to propel my legs forward. Jolts of pain as my weight rested on my ankle, but I needed another step, just another step. Hands screaming in pain at being forced to cling to these weapons, but they were all that could protect me. One more step, almost to the doorway. My thoughts were unfocused, fading. I couldn't remember why I was here. Couldn't remember why these ghosts were chasing me. My name…couldn't remember my name… It didn't matter. All that mattered was another step, and then another. The doorway was getting closer and closer.

Eleventh room.

I could see no doorway. My mind cried out in despair, but I didn't have the energy to do anything except stumble forward. There had to be something. There had to be…

The unearthly light of the ice vanished, leaving me in utter darkness. Silence descended over me, and I hoped that meant the ghosts weren't chasing me. But why was it so dark? I couldn't think… Unable to go another step, I collapsed on the ground. The ice was cool as my chest heaved against it. It felt so good to be still, to let my aching muscles and stabbing injuries have a rest at last. Only my hands refused to relax, wrapped around my weapons and refusing to let go. I lay there, feeling drained and weakened. I had to get up and keep going… There had to be a way out…

_The numbers of the rooms…_ My thoughts stumbled around through a fog. Why had I been supposed to count the rooms? If this was the last room, was it significant that it was the eleventh? A fuzzy image formed in my mind. It was something I had seen once, something in a forest. Earth was all around it. Some sort of box, long and dark, in a hole in the ground…

_Numbers… the 21 Sacraments… the Holy Assumption… 11/21…_

I focused in on the image of the coffin, and a hysterical laugh escaped me. Oh, I was in a lot of trouble. My lips opened, numbly trying to say something that would sum up my situation, but I seemed to have forgotten all obscenities and found myself laughing instead. I had been so convinced that this was the way to go, that the _other_ way was the trap. Yet here I was, in room eleven, the number of the murderer. He had even been kind enough to have his Otherworld alert me that I should count the rooms, and I still hadn't picked up on it until it was too late.

Through the darkness, I heard a footstep.

My laughter cut off sharply, and I lifted my head to look around. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness just enough that I could see a distant figure moving towards me. "Who are you?" I croaked. With several deep breaths and a lot of straining, I managed to sit up. I lifted my sword and revolver. "Don't come any closer…"

The shape melted away, and my shoulders tensed. I didn't trust it. I didn't trust anything in this place now.

The sound of footsteps came again, this time from behind me.

"No…" I told myself I had to turn and face my stalker, and that I had to try to fight, even if it wouldn't work. But an unreasoning fear had swept over me, washing through me with no explanation. Terror and panic rose up to choke me, and I ducked my head as my blood ran hot and then cold in turns. I was no coward! I could overcome this!

"No… no… no…"

The tiny voice was desperate and pleading. It took me a moment to realize that it was my own. It was frightened of something, something strangely specific. Not death—the voice felt a strange calmness in response to the thought of being killed. Yet the menacing figure lurched through the darkness from behind held a special terror for it nevertheless.

_Get up!_ I ordered myself, trying to rise. _Face it! Fight!_

"No…"

I cowered as my limbs disobeyed my instructions for them to help me stand up. My hands were still clenched around my weapons, but I didn't know what good they would do if I was facing the wrong direction. I tried to move, fighting against the irrational voice that counseled hiding, as the footsteps got closer and closer.

I could sense a presence in the air now, a figure right behind me. Even as I fought myself, a hand clapped down on my shoulder. The icy touch of the dead leached my strength away from me, and I slumped. The mad voice that kept whimpering and refusing to struggle seemed resigned and hopeless—or hopeful? Hopeful of what? That at last this would be the end? That I would find peace at last?

_But I don't want to die!_ I protested against the voice, twitching as my paralysis started to leave in face of peril. The dead hands gripped me tighter, holding me still, and I imagined I heard a voice whispering into my mind, daring me to turn and face my destruction.

_Turn. Look at me. Look at me!_

I shook my head, not wanting to do it, but my assailant had hit upon the idea with some sort of insane glee. Cold hands moved me with an inhuman strength, forcing me to turn around. My stomach dropped. Even in the darkness, I could tell that I was looking straight into a gun barrel.

Slowly, with dread creeping into every aspect of my being, I looked up into the face of the dead man who had attacked me. For a moment, I saw his eyes staring back into mine… Then there was nothing but the sound of the gun firing, and terror, and pain.


	15. Chapter 15: Nightmare

"_Deep in the night you think everything's right.  
__Tell it to yourself. Say it's just a nightmare.  
__Something is telling you nothing can change where you are  
__Again."  
_-Akira Yamaoka, "Acceptance"

Chapter 15: Nightmare

I opened my eyes through a haze of pain and saw the red-stained walls of my haunted Room 302. The heavy feeling in the air pressed down on me with a sense of malice. A groan escaped me, and I closed my eyes again. What had happened? I remembered running through the eleven icy rooms…

The gun.

The shot.

The pain.

My eyes snapped open and I screamed as the memory returned to me. I groped at my face desperately, feeling around for a bullet hole. When I found nothing, my panic subsided, but only slightly.

I should have been dead. The trap in the Otherworld had worked, and I had been shot in the face. There was no explanation for me being back in my room with no injury. Horror froze my breath at the thought that if I could die and wake up again, that meant that the murderer could trap me here for an eternity of dying in increasingly horrible ways. Images flew into my mind, gory, grisly ideas of what he might do to me next. It would be terrible, painful, and I would have to exist with the memories with no hope of ever escaping, not ever…

_No!_

I gritted my teeth and clutched my hair tightly. I wouldn't let that happen. I would escape before it ever reached that point. My eyes closed, and I let my head drop back against my pillow. For the first time ever since this nightmare had engulfed me, I found myself considering the possibility that I just couldn't do this. I didn't want to go through the hole, for fear that there would be something worse waiting for me.

_But Eileen is there…_

Unconsciously, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the doll that I had found in the Apartment World. Eileen's doll. I squeezed it against my body, dreaming in a hallucinatory way that it put me closer to her, wherever she was now. A haze of confusion drifted through my mind, like there was something I should be thinking of and wasn't. Unbidden, the image of Eileen turning to ice with the doll in her hands entered my mind.

I sat up and looked at it. It stared back with its lifeless face. I hated it.

"You did this to me, didn't you?" I raised my arm and threw the doll as hard as I could across the room. It smacked into the wall and dropped to the ground. For a moment, I felt a surge of satisfaction, and then the absurdity struck me. Of course the doll wasn't responsible. The murderer was the one to blame. He obviously wasn't the doll, even if I couldn't remember his face.

Oh, but it felt so, so good to blame the doll for a change.

"You're really cracking up this time," I muttered, climbing out of bed.

I made it out of the room and over to the door, where a new message from Joseph awaited me. The back of my mind stirred and whispered Cynthia's words about how he couldn't be trusted, and I remembered how my decision to press forward in compliance with his instructions had led to that terrifying debacle. I stared down at the red sheet of paper and considered leaving it right where it was. Then I sighed, my curiosity winning, and picked it up.

_A few days after Walter killed himself in his cell,  
__several residents witnessed  
a long-haired man with a coat here.  
__Through his window, Richard Braintree in 207  
__saw the man moving something heavy and doing something in Room 302.  
__Even Sunderland, the superintendent, saw  
the man with the coat  
hanging around  
__Room 302,  
and confirmed there were signs of someone having been in there.  
__July 17_

"They saw him?" I asked the page. "Is that what you mean? The long-haired man was him, and they saw him after his death? He was here?"

There was no answer.

I sighed and took the page in to the scrapbook. Then I went throughout the apartment, trying to open all of the windows and fiddling with the chains on the door. Nothing budged. I looked through the peephole and even checked the view into Eileen's room. I saw nothing that could help me, but I felt better for having completed my routine. Too much time had passed without me trying anything.

_Liar. You just don't want to go through the hole._

"Shut up," I told myself irritably, not willing to argue the point. It was true. I didn't want to go back there.

Panic shot through me again at the thought, and I rubbed my face. There really was no sign that I had been injured. I looked down at my clothes and saw that they were flecked with blood, with streaks from where I had pressed my hands after the ice had cut them. When I examined them, however, my hands were unmarred. My ankle felt fine, too, unlikely considering the amount of pain I had put it through.

"Maybe it was just a nightmare," I suggested out loud. It didn't make a lot of sense, but I liked the idea. Eileen would laugh when I told her that I had dreamed about going through the Otherworlds and getting shot by the murderer. No she wouldn't. But it was a nice thought, nevertheless.

I turned my attention to my weapons. To my dismay, the revolver was missing a bullet. Unless I had shot during the night, that was the shot I had taken when the ghosts had swarmed me. My sword had spots of blood along the blade, and I remembered attacking the ghosts. There was no other explanation for that one. The whole, horrible experience had really happened.

Yet I lacked injuries. What sort of mad game was this?

Not yet convinced, I decided to look at myself in the mirror and make sure that there really wasn't any sign of what had happened. I went into the bathroom and looked with dismay at the ruined wall. That was right, the hole had destroyed the mirror. Trying to remember if there were any other mirrors in the apartment, I gave it a cursory search and found nothing.

This was a ridiculous reason to delay. I told myself that I had to return to the Otherworlds now, before something happened to Eileen. I wouldn't let myself fall into a trap again. Everything would be fine.

I rubbed my arms in memory of how cold I had been—due to both the fierce, cutting cold of the ice world and the damp chill of the foggy staircase. My shirt hadn't been the warmest of garments to begin with, and the ordeals I had been through had torn it up in spots. Telling myself I was not just delaying, and that I would go in just a minute, I returned to the bedroom.

Grabbing a coat from the closet, I put it on, grateful for its warmth. Maybe it could even act as camouflage and help me hide from ghosts in the darkness.

"Ghost camouflage," I muttered, and a hysterical giggle escaped me. I took several deep breaths to try to calm myself down. I needed all of my wits about me for entering the Otherworld.

Once I felt like I could take a step closer to those terrible worlds without collapsing in sobs or laughter, I double-checked that I still had my weapons and then returned to the hole. Crawling into the tunnel, I prepared to face whatever horrors lay at the other end this time.

xXx

"You're here! What happened?"

Dazed, I opened my eyes. I was sitting with my back against a door. When I tilted my head upwards, I could see the cult symbol floating above me in the fog. Hastily I stood and realized that I was back on the spiral staircase. Eileen stood a few feet away, looking at me curiously.

"I…" I rubbed my head and tried to remember what had happened. "Eileen? How did you get here?"

"What?" She frowned at me. "I just walked through the door. In the subway station? There was a door behind one of the train cars, but when I walked through it, you were gone."

"Was I with you the entire time until then?" I asked, a feeling of dread creeping up my spine.

She blinked and peered closely at me. Walking closer, she put a hand on my shoulder. "Is something wrong?"

I opened my mouth to respond and then hesitated. What was I going to tell her, that the posters of Valtiel had attacked me and when they stopped, Cynthia was standing in her place? That I had run through a series of icy rooms and then been shot in the face, only to wake up in Room 302 without any injuries?

"You can tell me," she said, her voice soft. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

For a moment, I almost did. I wanted to confide in her so badly that it felt like the need was physically pressing down on my shoulders. If I told someone the truth, maybe I could stop feeling like I was going crazy. I wouldn't be in it alone anymore; maybe she wouldn't even judge me the way George had. She looked so gentle and inviting. Looking into her eyes, I felt like I could tell her anything.

But it was just too much.

"I don't even know where I'd start," I muttered, looking down at the ground.

"That's okay."

Surprised, I looked up into her eyes. She was smiling.

"If you find the words to tell me, let me know. I'll stand beside you either way. We'll get to the bottom of this. We'll learn the truth and escape, alive!"

"Thank you," I said, touched. I looked at her, so close to me, and I wondered if it would be completely improper of me to pull her into an embrace as thanks for her offer.

The moment passed while I was still debating, as Eileen turned away from me and resumed the descent down the staircase. "We better keep moving."

I followed, glancing around only once. The wall in the fog that contained the door was the only sign of any sort of structure, besides the caged corpses that still haunted our footsteps. There was no sign of the other segment of stairs we had been on before entering the Subway World. The fog obscured any sign of where this one might end.

We reached a door, and I looked up at the crimson Halo of the Sun with a grimace. I was getting to hate that symbol. Eileen looked at me for a moment and then opened the door, slowly stepping through. With no other choice, I followed and looked out at the graveyard I remembered from my previous visit to the Forest World.

"Oh no," I whispered. The 11/21 grave was visible from where I stood. All I could think of was Jasper's insane raving as the ice claimed the forest. And then ice, water, and fire had all tried to kill me in turn. "This is not a good place."

"It looks like a normal cemetery to me," Eileen said, walking towards the tombstones. She paused and crouched on the ground, peering closely at one of them. "Except…"

"What is it?" I asked, feeling nervous. I caught up with her reluctantly, not wanting to risk losing her again. Something bothered me about the way she was looking at the gravestone. There were some markings on it in bright red, and she seemed transfixed by them.

"This writing… 'October 1st. He told me I could write whatever I wanted because nobody will ever see it. I like to write. My teacher taught me how.' What does it mean?"

"I'm not sure I want to know," I muttered. "Let's just get out of here."

She moved on to the next gravestone. "It's here, too. 'October 2nd. I played with Bob. It was fun, but I went too far away and he got angry.' This was written by a little kid!"

I wrapped my arms around myself. "There was an orphanage here. The Order ran it and used it to brainwash children into believing their doctrine."

"That's terrible… So the child who wrote this must have been one of the orphans…at least he had friends." She looked around the graveyard and then headed towards another stone with red markings on it. "Here's another one. 'October 3rd. I played with Bob again. I went even further this time.'" She hesitated. "I can't… Oh, I see it now. 'There was a huge rock. It was really cool. He beat me up after it.' Why would Bob beat him up?"

"I don't think Bob is the one doing it," I muttered. "The guard… the prison guard…"

"Prison?" she repeated, looking at me with wide eyes.

My skin was crawling at the thought of the things that had happened at this place. That guard, that terrible guard, beating children on the instructions of the cultists. Had he himself been a member? No, DeSalvo had just been a sick freak. "Let's just get out of here," I growled, marching off through the rows of graves.

With a sigh, Eileen followed, lingering behind me slightly to look at the gravestones.

The truth was, I had no idea where I was going. Joseph hadn't given me a hint on what my next move should be, unless his placard clue had applied to this Otherworld as well as the last. If that was true, then I had to return to the orphanage. With the way these worlds had been treating me, I wouldn't have been totally surprised if I found the orphanage intact and Jasper standing outside, drinking chocolate milk or something equally inane.

_Chocolate milk…_ There had been some in my refrigerator; I remembered seeing it. Thinking about it now made me lick my lips. It felt like it had been a long time since I had actually had anything to eat or drink. A part of me regretted not accepting the drink George had offered me at the bar. He _had_ said the bartender wouldn't mind, since I was hero. That felt like an eternity ago.

"'October 4th. My cheek hurts. I hate him.'"

George said I had saved the Locane twins from death. Joseph said they had been two of the victims. Who was telling the truth? Did they somehow exist in different worlds, and that was why nothing added up?

"'October 5th. I got hit again. I didn't do anything wrong. I wish he was dead.'"

It would explain why George had witnessed the trial of Andrew DeSalvo, even though I later found him as one of the victims. It would explain why George remembered the execution of Richard Braintree, even though I knew he had been alive until he was murdered.

"'October 6th. Tomorrow is book study in the chapel. If I can't read well, I'll wind up like John. I'm really scared."

But what motive would either the cult or their murderer have for mixing two worlds? And how would it be done? Was it an accident, or were they taking victims from both places? What could it possibly accomplish? Their twisted rituals…they might have unleashed something devastating. I hated this place, even more than the rest of the Otherworlds. It reeked with their taint.

"'October 13th. I finally got outside. John is still stuck in that round cell. I hope I read well tomorrow.' Round cell? What is he talking about?"

Those tiny rooms at the prison ran through my mind. George had said that place was a courthouse, but he was wrong. After the ice had come, I had seen it for what it was. It was a prison, a terrible prison. Children had been kept there, neglected and abused by that maniac DeSalvo. _Prison_ was too good a word for it. It was a hellish factory, intended to produce new cultists to carry on their twisted traditions. It had created a murderer who had fashioned his own prison for me.

"The cult," I snarled, clenching my fists and staring out at the trees. "Their orphanage, their prison… I just want to get away from them!"

A hand touched my shoulder and I whirled around in alarm, but it was only Eileen. Her face was sad. "I understand. They're responsible for everything aren't they?"

I hung my head. A sense of despair was growing inside of me, filling me with an empty feeling that felt like it might consume me from within. "What chance do we have against the cult? They're too powerful to stop, aren't they? They corrupted Silent Hill… They turned that little boy, and Alessa, and countless other children into their tools… And no one ever stopped them. They were allowed to fester here unchecked. No one _cared_!"

"That's not true!"

I snapped my head up, startled by the vehemence in Eileen's tone.

"Joseph Schreiber and others led investigations into the Order's activities! The centralized cult is _gone_. Only fragments remain now."

"It's gone?" I asked, feeling stunned. That was right, wasn't it? Joseph had said the cult was gone…only its spirit was still alive.

Eileen's eyes were wide. "Why don't you remember this? What's wrong?"

I gritted my teeth and decided I would have to tell her at least some of what was going on. "Can we at least leave the cemetery?" I asked, not wanting to stay there any longer than I had to.

She threw a longing glance over her shoulder at the writing on the gravestones, but then she nodded. "All right."

I led the way along the path as quickly as I could without making my haste obvious. With any luck, the central area would have some clue, and we could escape. "There's something wrong with my memory. A few days ago—I think—I had a terrible nightmare, and that's when I first got locked into my room from the inside. At the time, I didn't realize that anything was wrong other than the obvious, but when I went through the hole—there's a hole in my apartment that leads to these Otherworlds—and met Cynthia, I realized I couldn't remember anything beyond that day."

"Cynthia?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "I thought you broke up with her."

"You'd know better than me," I muttered.

We walked in silence for a time, and my uneasiness with the situation grew. I worried that she was quiet because she thought I was crazy, or that she no longer trusted me to help her escape. The noises from the forest didn't help matters. I thought I could hear those monstrous moth-bat things again, as well as other creatures I didn't even have a name for. Chirpy, scratchy noises that were either birds or insects—whatever they were, I didn't want to see them. Anything produced by this place couldn't be good. I hated this forest. I hated everything about it. I just wanted to get to the orphanage and hope there was an answering waiting for us there.

We had almost reached the wall surrounding the central area when Eileen stopped walking. I stopped as well and looked at her. A contemplative look was on her face.

"My memory is fine," she said. "Has anyone else you've met here had amnesia?"

"No," I said dully. "Just me."

Her eyes sparked with interest. "Then it's not a by-product of being brought to the Otherworlds. The timing is too perfect for it to be a coincidence. What if it was deliberate?"

"Deliberate?" I repeated.

"Yes!" She looked into my eyes. "What if there was something you knew that could stop this? Something that would help us escape, or unravel the Otherworlds!"

She looked excited by the prospect, but I shivered, decidedly disconcerted by what she was suggesting. "How would I know such a thing?" I demanded. Possessing such information would mean… "Are you saying I have some sort of a connection with the cult?"

"Maybe!" Far from the revulsion I felt at the thought, the look on her face was one of fascination. "You never spoke much about your past. What if there's a link to the Order there? Oh, I'm not saying you're a cultist or anything," she added hastily at my yelp of protest, "but maybe you investigated them like Joseph did, or maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And you learned something. Maybe it was something you didn't even realize was important, but it's connected to the ritual this madman wants to perform. That's why he tampered with your memory—because you learned something that could stop him!"

"But I don't want anything to do with the cult!" I shouted, turning away from her. I put my head in my hands. I felt sick and uncomfortable. If they played a role in my past, even a small one, maybe it was best if I kept my amnesia.

Eileen stepped up behind me and placed her warm hands on my shoulders. "Even if it's something that could help us?"

Reluctantly, I pulled away from her and suppressed several stray thoughts about how nice it felt to be touched after being so lonely. Turning around, I looked down into her hopeful face and couldn't bring myself to argue. "How can it help us if I can't remember it?"

"We need to sit down and discuss everything we do know about your past. Then we can search for the missing pieces." Her smile lit up her face and made me glad I hadn't rejected her idea.

"I'll try. But not here," I added, looking around at the dark trees. "I don't want to linger in this forest."

"All right. Do you know how to get out of here?"

"No," I admitted. I pointed towards the gate. "I'm hoping we'll be a little closer once we're through there, though. That's where the orphanage building used to be."

She looked, and then she hurried over to the gate. "There's more writing here!" she exclaimed. "Let's see… 'October 14th. I did a good job reading today. I was so happy, but the 21 Sacraments for the Descent of the Holy Mother was hard.'"

A violent shudder passed through me, and I tried not to think too hard about these diary entries. Children being forced to learn these terrible rituals… Without saying a word, I joined Eileen and opened the gate. She followed me through, and I looked at the spot where the orphanage had been on my last visit.

Smoldering ruins were all that remained. Blackened beams and boards formed a pile on top of the building's foundations. The ground was dark with ash, and smoke still drifted through the air. A piece of charred paper was lying on the ground, and I walked over to see what it was.

_Something's here but nothing's here.  
__I feel something from the well.  
__Something's missing.  
__Aaaaaaaahhhh!  
__It has begun!  
__Jasper_

As soon as I reached the end, I backed away from it. It was the same handwriting that had written the note about meeting the Devil, and the confusing wording matched the way Jasper had been talking in riddles in the forest. _It has begun._ I wondered if he was talking about the ritual, since he had seemed to know something about the cult, or if…

I took another step away, even as I told myself that what I was thinking was impossible. I had seen the terrible way he had died. He had barely been able to scream out his last, raving words, let alone write a note about being burned to death. No one would write a diary entry while dying like that. No one would write out a scream in the middle of their diary, either. The more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Jasper could have written this burned note at all. What in the world was going on here?

Eileen had wandered away from me to look at the wall. "'October 15th. Bob is gone. Nobody will tell me what happened. I bet he did it. Andrew.'"

"It actually says his name?" I hurried over to her and squinted at the markings. They still looked like illegible scribbles to me. "Eileen, how can you even read these?"

She frowned at me. "You can't?" She read it again, pointing to each word as she did so, but they blurred together into an incoherent red mess.

"I don't even recognize those as letters."

"There's another one over here." She led me to another part of the wall and pointed at the writing scrawled in the corner.

I squinted at it and then shook my head. I couldn't read it. I wasn't that fond of her reading it, either. Besides the horror stories these entries told about the orphanage, something about them bothered me. I didn't even want to look at them.

"'October 16th. Some important people came today. One of them…' This part is a little hard to make out. 'One of them was a lady named…Dahlia.'"

The name hit me like a blow, and I let out a gasp. I stumbled backwards, trying to place where I knew that name from. Why did I recognize it? It filled me with dread, but with a strange sort of awe. Dahlia… She must have been an important member of the cult, and that meant she had been powerful. A witch? _Dahlia…_

"What is it?" Eileen asked, looking at me with wide eyes. "Do you know who Dahlia is?"

"I…" My head hurt, and I shook my head in frustration, trying to concentrate. "That name…"

"Are you remembering something? Try to remember! Try!"

I felt like the answer was just out of my reach. Dahlia… the Order… Alessa… The world spun around me, and pinpricks of pain sent chills through my body. I felt dizzy, as if I was about to fall forward onto my face. I lurched forward instead, catching Eileen's arm in a tight grip. The Otherworld was trying to send me back to my apartment. I wouldn't go…wouldn't go…wouldn't…

Everything was going black. Eileen was shouting, but I couldn't hear her.

I tried to hold on… for I moment I thought I could see a shadowy figure emerging from one of the paths, coming closer and closer. I tried to shout out to warn Eileen, but the words never made it past my lips. Darkness devoured them and sucked me under.

xXx

_Alessa…_

_ "Alessa is the one. She will bring salvation!" The voice was cold and cruel, something in it suggesting to me that the woman speaking was not to be trusted, did not truly care about salvation… But there was power in her voice. She was a woman of iron, one who would govern and never be governed. "My daughter will be the mother of God."_

My eyes snapped open and I stared around at my bedroom, not recognizing it for a moment. My mind was still caught up in the strange dream. That woman's voice, I had heard it before. She had spoken in a hallucination the last time I had been to the Forest World. It was her.

Dahlia.

I squinted at the red walls, wishing they didn't have to look so bloody. It made me feel like my time was running out.

I got up and left the room, checking the door. A new note from Joseph was there, and I picked it up.

_My theory is that Walter never died at the prison. It may have been  
__someone else who committed suicide. Either that, or the person the police arrested __was not  
the real Walter Sullivan.  
__I'm in no position to investigate what really happened at the prison,  
__but in any case, Walter didn't die there.  
__The man with the coat that showed up here was  
the real Walter.  
__7 years ago he did something in that apartment._

I let the page fall from my hand, not reading the rest. Joseph was right. He had done something to this place. None of the other victims had been trapped prior to entering the Otherworlds, not the way I was. Room 302 hadn't been pulled into the Otherworld because I was in it…_I_ had been pulled into the Otherworld because I was in it. The room was the important part.

Somehow, the room was key to understanding this madman.

I ran to the hole as fast as I could, knowing this was something I had to share with Eileen.

xXx

As soon as I opened my eyes, I gasped, "It's the room! Eileen, the room is at the center of this somehow!"

"I know," she said, walking towards me quickly from where she had been standing by a fence.

I realized that we were no longer by the orphanage. This was the overlook past the frightening buildings I had passed through. From here, I had dived down into the lake. It looked much more peaceful now that the ice had left it. The view of the waters below and the dark sky above was almost tranquil. The fog drifting through the air and the red writing along the fence dispelled that illusion quickly.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

She folded her arms. "I'm not sure how _you_ got here. You just disappeared suddenly, like you did before. I guess you couldn't stop it." She sighed, and walked back to the fence, looking down at the lake. "After you disappeared, I had a…sensation. I can't describe it. I just knew that I had to look around the forest." Her gaze shifted to the fence, and she ran her hand along the markings. "I had to find more of this diary, to understand why it's important."

"What did you find out?"

"The little boy was told by that important lady—Dahlia—that his mother was asleep in Ashfield."

Something stabbed at my heart. Did even the important cultists have nothing better to do than be needlessly cruel? Why tell such a lie to an orphan? "What did he do when he found out she wasn't there?"

Eileen turned and regarded me levelly. "I don't think he found out. I think he's still trying to find her."

"What do you mean?" I asked, a cold pit forming in my stomach.

She looked at the fencepost again. "This is what I mean: 'March 17th. I went to Ashfield again. It was my fourth time. Just like before, I didn't see mommy and the apartment where my mother is has a scary guy in it. If I can just read the 21 Sacraments for the Holy Mother thing, I can be with her.'"

The hallucination. Dahlia's voice. The Conjurer in case Alessa failed to bring them their God. The 21 Sacraments to call down the Holy Mother. The little orphan told his mother was asleep in Ashfield…

"What is it?" Eileen asked, taking a step towards me with a worried frown. "What's wrong?"

I realized that I was panting, but the world seemed like it was far away. My thoughts were a cage, closing in around me. That child had grown up… He was trying to find his mother… All the murders… _Dahlia…_ That filthy, lying witch of the Order! She was the worst one of them all, worse than DeSalvo, worse than Jimmy Stone, worse than…

_Worse than Walter Sullivan?_

"The room," I whispered, lifting a hand to my head. The dull pain throbbing behind my eyes had become almost familiar to me, but now it was sharp and distracting. "Room 302… He thinks it's his mother."

"That's right."

There was a quaver of pity in her voice. _What a sweet, gentle person she is, to feel sorry for him…_ I wanted to tell her so, but when I looked up, the words caught in my throat. Eileen's faced was bruised and bloodied, the way it had been when I found her in her apartment and feared I was too late. The bruises continued across her exposed skin, and it looked almost like they were alive, shifting and slithering around beneath her skin.

"Is something wrong?" she exclaimed, taking a step away. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Eileen—" I stopped struck dumb by the fact that she looked perfectly normal. There wasn't a trace of her injuries. One second they had been there, and then they were gone. "N-nothing," I stammered, turning away. What was the matter with me? Was I losing my mind? "I just realized that…that you feel sorry for him."

"Don't you?"

I wasn't sure I knew how to answer that. Could I feel sorry for him, knowing everything that he had done? He had killed almost twenty people already. He had trapped me in this twisted world. He wanted to kill me, and Eileen too. How could anyone feel sympathy for a monster?

But Eileen did. And if she did, then perhaps it was more possible than I thought.

"Why do you suppose he isn't looking for us?"

Her question took me by surprise. I turned around to face her, letting out a tiny breath of relief at the sight of her unmarred flesh. "What do you mean?"

"These are his worlds, his Otherworlds." She looked from side to side and extended her arms to indicate the world around us. "But there's no sign of him. Why isn't he trying to kill us? These worlds are terrible, but they don't seem particularly malevolent."

_You haven't seen the ghosts,_ I thought, but I kept silent. She had a point. It seemed a needlessly slow process for him to just wait for the Otherworlds to wear us down.

"Hasn't he directly murdered people here?"

"He has," I whispered. _Cynthia… is she alive or dead? Which reality is fact?_

"Then why hasn't he come for us?"

"I don't know."

"Think!" she said, punching her fist into her open palm. "There has to be an answer. Why won't he show himself?"

"Wait," I interrupted, my brow furrowing as I realized where she was going with this, "you think it's important, don't you? Just like my lost memory."

"I think there's a good chance this is more than a lucky coincidence. We have to find the answers!"

"So we're still in search of the Ultimate Truth," I said quietly. "But to find that, first we need to get out of this forest." My shoulders slumped. "I had hoped the answer would be at the orphanage, but I didn't see anything. Did you?"

She shook her head.

"Then how are we going to get out of here?"

Laughter broke out from behind me. I spun around, heart pounding, and prepared to grab my weapons. George Rosten stood there, slowly walking towards us.

"You have to go _beneath_ the orphanage," he said with a smirk. "I thought everyone knew that."

* * *

_Author's note: I'm really sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up! On Wednesday I was sick, and I mustered up the energy for homework and pretty much nothing else. The plus side is that you now have a shorter wait between this chapter and the next!_


	16. Chapter 16: The Secrets of the Forest

"_They say that faith is all you need  
__to stay forever young.  
__What you've sown is what you reap,  
__our sins can't be undone.  
__How can we trust them once again?  
__They used to tell us lies.  
__And their voices will sustain...  
__'cause nothing ever dies."  
_-Kamelot, "Nothing Ever Dies"

Chapter 16: The Secrets of the Forest

"George!" I gasped. I turned my head and saw to my relief that Eileen was still there, staring at George like she had never seen anything quite like him. It occurred to me that she probably hadn't encountered anyone other than me in the Otherworlds. "Eileen, this is George. I've mentioned him."

He stepped forward, moving in a smooth bow and reaching out for Eileen's hand. She offered it, still giving him a wary, half-dazed look. Instead of shaking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed her in a courtly gesture. When he released her, she looked over at me as if asking for an explanation about my strange friend.

I shrugged. For all I knew, this was the first time he had ever acted that way.

"Oh, I can see you two making faces about me," George said, lifting his hands in mock affront. "So modern, you are. Or…" His eyebrows twitched upward. "I hope you aren't looking at me that way because I interrupted something. Two young people out for a walk in the woods…"

A blush rose in my cheeks as his meaning became clear to me. "Actually, we _aren't_ out for walk, George. We're trying to escape."

He frowned at me for a moment and then snapped his fingers as his eyes lit up. "Oh, right!" He leaned towards Eileen and asked in a perfectly audible whisper, "Is he still going on about evil cults locking him in his room?"

She stared at him and then looked around, her gaze settling on the writing on the fencepost for a moment and then going back to him.

I edged close enough to her so that I could whisper without being overheard. "He seems to see the real world here."

George coughed into his hand and said, "I heard that, you know."

Eileen looked at each of us for a moment, and then her eyes narrowed. She walked up to George and pursed her lips. "Do you really not see the Otherworlds the way we do?"

He grinned. "Well, Miss Galvin, I'm afraid I can't answer your question, because no man can ever know for certain the way the world looks through another's eyes. If we could…well, perhaps the world would be a better place. Perhaps not. Perhaps we would all be lunatics, seeing things that aren't there."

Although I had to smile at his jab at my sanity, Eileen folded her arms and continued to stare at him. She didn't look amused in the slightest.

George glanced at me. "It would seem your lady friend is unable to make light of our situation."

Before I could answer, Eileen interrupted, "_Our_ situation, is it now? And what is _our_ situation, if you think this is the real world?"

He laughed and held his hands in the air. "I'm starting to think I'm being interrogated. Relax, Miss Galvin. The 'situation' is that we're here in the forest, and we want to get out. That was what you were discussing as I approached." He shook his head with a rueful smile. "I came to help you, and this is the reception I get…"

"He did tell us how to escape," I pointed out, not sure why Eileen seemed so disturbed by him.

As if I hadn't even spoken, she gave him a careful look. "Yes, you said we had to go under the orphanage. Why?"

"Because that's the way out of the forest," he said slowly.

Her expression darkened with suspicion. "We could just walk out through the trees if this wasn't the Otherworld. You _know_ this isn't the real world; you wouldn't have said that if it was!"

George inspected on a mark on his sleeve and then shrugged, returning his gaze to her with a nonchalant smirk. "Are you so sure of that?"

"What do you mean? Of course I am!"

He sighed and shook his head, folding his arms to match her stance. "Miss Galvin, do you spend much time in the forest near Silent Hill?"

"I've—I've been to Silent Hill," she said, faltering slightly.

"The forest, Miss Galvin?"

"Well, no," she admitted.

A smile spread across his face. "Then you can't tell me what the forest is like in the 'real world,' because this is the first time you've been here. Trust me, this is the real world, you have to leave the forest by going underneath the orphanage, and that's perfectly normal."

"No it's not!" she cried. She turned to me. "You understand, don't you? It doesn't matter if I've never been to this forest before! I know how forests _work._ You can _leave_ them!"

"You can leave this one," George said. "You just have to go underneath the orphanage first."

She glared at him, and I stepped in between them quickly. "It doesn't matter who's right," I said, although in truth I felt painfully confused. Just like in the Building World, it wasn't that George perceived an entirely different world, but that he accepted this one as normal. But I didn't want to watch them argue about it, especially not in this creepy forest. "We just need to get out of here. Once we've gotten away, maybe we can settle our differences."

Eileen sighed and nodded. George's eyes gleamed with triumph for an instant, and then he bowed and waved his hand towards the door.

I went first, anxious to hasten my departure from this world. When I opened the door, I braced, expecting to see the nightmarish room that had been there during my first visit. Instead, I found myself looking at a simple storage room, with tools harmlessly resting against walls. The back of my neck prickled, but I masked my unease and walked through confidently. My eyes darted around as I crossed the room, but there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. I could almost believe that this really was just an ordinary building in an ordinary forest…

Behind me, I could hear George attempting to engage Eileen in conversation, but their words were muffled and faint to my ears. My thoughts were miles away for the entire trek back to the orphanage. The ice alone couldn't have accounted for that room I saw the last time. Its transformation didn't make any sense.

Too little made sense these days. The unbreakable chains on the door in the apartment seemed almost logical in comparison to the things that had been happening in these Otherworlds.

_Is Cynthia alive or dead? How did Joseph survive? Was Eileen attacked or not? Why does the ice come? Why do I always wake up back in Room 302? Why can't I remember anything about my past? Why doesn't the murderer show himself?_

_But he did!_

I opened my mouth to shout to Eileen that we had been mistaken. He had shown himself, because he had been waiting for me in those icy chambers, the eleventh victim in the eleventh room. He had killed me.

Then I realized how that would sound, especially to George, and closed my mouth.

That incident was far from an explanation about anything. It raised even more questions. Keeping my stride even, I lifted my hand in a casual gesture and ran my fingers along my face. There was still no sign of an injury. I let my hand drop to my side, feeling so self-conscious that I expected to be questioned at any minute and have to explain that I thought I had been shot. Neither George nor Eileen commented, however, and my breath came a little easier.

The forest was almost calming when I wasn't thinking about its creepiness. It seemed normal. When I let my thoughts drift, I could almost believe that George was right. But if he was right, there was only one explanation—an explanation that unfortunately could account for everything else.

_I could just be insane._

To my relief, we reached the door leading to the orphanage then. I opened it and walked inside, stepping out of the way so that George could take the lead. Eileen caught up to me and walked by my side as we followed him towards the wreckage. When I looked over at her, she gave a small shrug and took my hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Even though she was silent, I could almost hear her telling me that everything was going to be all right. I smiled back, feeling as though a massive weight had been lifted from me. Eileen could see the Otherworlds. She was proof that it wasn't all in my head.

George climbed up onto the smoking lumber and started shoving beams out of the way.

"Hey," I called, remembering something, "now you know I was telling the truth about this!"

He tossed a blackened board out of the way and glanced at me. "Oh?"

"Yes," I said impatiently. "At the Water Prison, you said you hadn't heard about the fire."

"And your point is?" he asked distractedly, kneeling to dig through the rubble.

"How do you know I'm not telling the truth about the other things, then?"

He snorted. "I miss one news bulletin, and this means I should believe that you're trapped in your room and this is some psycho voodoo world? Thanks, but no thanks." He stood up and brushed the ash off of his clothes. Once the clouds of black dust around him had settled, he turned to us and stepped to the side. He extended his hand to indicate the staircase he had uncovered. "Lady and gentleman, I give you your destination."

Keeping my hand clasped with Eileen's, I led the way down the staircase. George brought up the rear. The staircase was dingy and dark, turning once and then emerging into a small room that sent chills down my spine.

The first thing that caught my eye was the Halo of the Sun. Emblazoned in red across the back wall, it rested above an altar. Covered with a dark tablecloth, the altar was innocuous enough, with a book and white candles resting on it. Other candles stood in tall holders along the walls, with two distinctive red candles resting in decorative sconces on the side walls. Images were carved into the walls, but I couldn't bring myself to look at them for too long. The room was cleaner than most places we found in the Otherworlds, looking strangely well-preserved considering that it must have been as abandoned as the rest of the orphanage. Across the room at an angle from the stairs was a door, with a conspicuous circular indentation in the wood.

I bolted to the door and tried to open it. It was locked.

"Yeah, I was getting to that," George said, tromping into the room behind us. "There's a medallion we need, to unlock the door."

"Where is it?" I asked, my gaze unconsciously following Eileen as she let go of my hand and walked over to look at the book on the altar.

"Deeper in the complex."

"Deeper?" I began, looking around at the small room, but Eileen's sudden cry prevented me from asking more.

"Oh! It's _that_! It's that ritual!"

I hurried over to see what had alarmed her so. She put her hand over her mouth as she looked down at the book. I had a feeling I knew which ritual would cause such a reaction, but I read the page for myself anyway.

_Descent of the Holy Mother—The 21 Sacraments  
__  
__The First Sign:  
__And God said,  
__At the time of fullness,  
__cleanse the world with my rage.  
__Gather forth the White Oil, the Black Cup,  
__and the Blood of the Ten Sinners.  
__Prepare for the Ritual of the Holy Assumption._

_The Second Sign:  
__And God said,  
__Offer the blood of the Ten Sinners  
__and the White Oil.  
__Be then released from the bonds of the flesh,  
__and gain the Power of Heaven.  
__From the Darkness and Void,  
__bring forth Gloom,  
__and gird thyself with Despair  
__for the Giver of Wisdom._

_The Third Sign:  
__And God said,  
__Return to the Source through sin's Temptation.  
__Under the Watchful eye of the demon,  
__wander alone in the formless Chaos.  
__Only then will the Four Atonements be in alignment._

_The Last Sign:  
__And God said,  
__Separate from the flesh too, she who is the Mother Reborn  
__and he who is the Receiver of Wisdom.  
__If this is done, by the Mystery of the 21 Sacraments,  
__the Mother shall be reborn  
__and the Nation of Sin shall be redeemed._

"It's terrible!" Eileen cried. "That poor little boy! He must have read this so many times, and all that stuck with him was the part about the mother. And they made him think it was _his_ mother—it's cruel! Evil!"

I wanted to answer her, but the world was receding from my vision as I stared at the page. The second and third "signs" were very familiar to me. Those same verses were written on the Scripture scrap that I had kept with me for so long. But the first sign was also familiar. I had read it to George in the hospital. I had taken the page out of my pocket and read those words, but now that I saw the complete ritual, I knew that the first part had never been written on the page I had found.

Just to be sure, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the paper. As I had expected, it had only the second and third verses.

_What in the world…?_

I backed away from the altar. This made less sense than anything else that had happened. How could I have possibly seen those words on the page?

"I'm sure the cult's rituals are fascinating," George said, "but if you want to get out of here in any reasonable amount of time, we really should get looking for that medallion."

His voice jerked me out of my thoughts, and I realized that he and Eileen were both staring at me. Deciding that this was something I would rather discuss with Eileen when we were alone, I smiled. "Ready whenever you are."

"You aren't going to ask 'How do we get to the rest of the complex'? I was looking forward to that part." He let out a dramatic sigh and then walked over to the wall by the stairs. "Nevertheless, prepare to be amazed."

George put his hand on the sconce, just beneath the red candle, and gave it a sharp twist. A rumbling noise filled the room, and vibrations ran through the walls and floor. It only took a moment to locate its source. What had looked like a solid wall behind the altar revealed itself to be no such thing. The massive Halo of the Sun was rotating. It revolved counterclockwise three times, then receded into the wall several inches. Then the entire wall shifted to the left, sliding neatly behind the other wall to expose a narrow entryway.

I turned and stared at George in amazement.

He winked and strode towards the opening. "You coming?"

"Of course!" I gasped, my fear of the Otherworlds almost fading entirely due to my surprise. I had never imagined that a place like this existed. I would have assumed this little room was all there was beneath the orphanage.

Eileen looked wary, eyes narrowing at George's back.

"Don't worry," I said, smiling at her. "It certainly can't be worse than what we've already faced here."

Pleased that our escape from Forest World was imminent, I followed George into the darkness.

xXx

"Give me a second here," George said from somewhere in front of me. I heard the sound of a match being struck, and then a tiny flame lit the area around him. He looked ghastly in the dim light, almost demonic. Then he brought the match to a torch mounted on the wall, and the illusion passed with the greater illumination.

As he moved around the room lighting torches, I looked around. The ceiling was higher than I would have expected for an underground chamber, stone vaulting upwards into darkness. Looking at the stone floor, covered in a thick layer of dust, and the solid walls around me, cobwebs growing in the corners and torches providing the only available light, I found myself thinking about ancient castles. George passed through an arched opening just to my right, and the torch he lit revealed a corridor running parallel to the chamber we were in.

"This is incredible!" I gasped, turning to see if Eileen shared my feelings.

She was nowhere to be seen.

Frowning, I tried to remember if she had actually come with us or not. Realizing that she couldn't have gotten past us in the dark that quickly unless she had been running, in which case I would have heard her footsteps, I returned to the exit and looked out. The small room beyond the altar was entirely empty.

"Eileen?" I called.

My voice echoing around the dusty rooms was the only answer.

I hurried into the corridor and grabbed George's arm. "Eileen is gone!"

He grimaced. "Would she have gone back to the forest?"

"Of course not!" After a moment's consideration, I hesitated. "Although I suppose she must have… I mean, where else would she go?"

"Through the door, perhaps?"

I stared at him. "But you said we needed a medallion to get through…"

"_I_ need a medallion," he clarified. "Maybe she has her own way to get through."

His tone and the meaningful way he twitched his eyebrows made anger spark inside of me. "What are you suggesting?" I snapped.

George put his hand on my shoulder. "Look, kid, you know her better than I do. I'm not accusing anyone of anything. I'm just saying…well, she seemed pretty interested in that book. I mean, who sees a room like that for the first time and just runs over to the altar to read the demonic texts?"

"Are you saying Eileen is a part of the Order?" I asked, insulted.

He shrugged and turned away from me. "Hey, anything's possible. But regardless of what she did or didn't do, we still need to find that medallion. Let's go."

I didn't feel comfortable with leaving Eileen behind, but I was less comfortable with the idea of searching the forest for her. She had disappeared in the Subway World, too. Perhaps she would simply reappear again later on. Swallowing hard, I followed George down the corridor. Staring at his back, I wondered again who I could really trust. Eileen had been so hostile towards him, and now he suggested something like this… She couldn't possibly be a cultist.

_But she could read that strange writing,_ a treacherous voice inside of me whispered. _And why was she so keen on the idea that your past had ties to the Order?_

_Shut up,_ I ordered that part of my mind. _It's not like that at all. She just wants my memory to be an important part of this._

_ Can't explain the writing, though, can you?_

My attempts to think up a clever rejoinder ground to a halt when George ducked through a door to our right and lit another torch. The flickering light showed me a huge room. The more torches he lit, the more the darkness faded, revealing just how massive the room really was. In its structure and design, it reminded me of a stone cathedral, though it lacked and altar and pews. Instead, the room was filled with bookcases. Shelves upon shelves contained books of all sizes and colors. They stretched as far as the eye could see, with oaken desks placed around the room at regular intervals. A candle sat upon each desk, and two wooden chairs rested near each. Paintings hung along the walls, depicting ritualistic and religious scenes that did not terrify me as much here as they would have elsewhere. A surreal beauty hung over this room, clinging to every mote of dust and strand of cobweb.

I walked forward slowly, looking around in awe. I could spend my entire life reading here and never reach every book. The distant wall opposite us had more arched doorways cut into it, and I wondered if there were more books there in addition to these.

Approaching the bookshelf closest to me, I looked at the dusty volumes. _Otherworld Laws, The Nature of Lobsel Vith: A Debate, Lost Memories, Powers of the Metatron, Crimson Ceremony…_ I flinched away in shock and then picked up the narrow volume that sat beside those three, because its binding was so worn that its title was unreadable. _On Aglaophotis_, the cover unhelpfully told me, and as I paged through, I saw the Aglaophotis was some sort of substance intended to dispel evil spirits and drive out demons.

"Ironic, isn't it?" George asked, making me jump. "The Order's plans for Alessa to birth God would have reached completion if it wasn't for that innocent red liquid." He chuckled.

I didn't see anything funny about it at all. "Not much of a God if it can be stopped by something meant to drive out demons," I said, returning the book to its spot on the shelf.

"Well, it's all a matter of perspective."

"What is this place?" I asked, looking around at all of the shelves. Were all of these books connected to the cult in some way? I hadn't realized their resources were this extensive. It gave me chills of awe and horror.

George folded his hands and smiled. "It is an unfortunate fact that history will not look kindly on Toby Archbolt… To the public, he will be remembered as a corrupt cultist, a drug-dealing conman, and the man who reopened the Wish House. And to the Order, he will be remembered as the man who seized power when the other sects were at their weakest. But he had more brilliance than any of them would give him credit for. He preserved the spirit of the cult more perfectly than anyone else ever tried to do. He saw that the Order was on the verge of collapse. Of course he seized power. Who else could? All of the other leaders were dead. I almost wonder if he knew that he was next… Despite my praise, I have to admit that he probably deserved it." He spread his arms to indicate the room we were in. "And when he seized power, he secretly gathered every text, tome, and grimoire related to the Order and its teachings. This is his legacy."

I shook my head, trembling. "How do you know all of this?"

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked, chuckling. "I'm not the one with amnesia."

His answer made sense, but I turned my attention to the shelves again so that he couldn't see how disconcerted I was. We were in an underground chamber full of books on the Order, and George knew all about its creation. Was it really common knowledge, or was there a special reason why he knew so much about them?

My train of thought dwindled as I realized there was something very peculiar about the books I was looking at. The bindings were clean and solid, but there were no titles. It was as if the writing alone had been worn away. Curious, I picked one up and saw that the cover was blank as well. So were all of the pages.

"George," I asked, bewildered, "why are some of these books blank?"

Silence answered me.

My head snapped from side to side. I did not want to be alone in this place. "_George!_"

"Are you coming?" he shouted from somewhere else in the room. "I thought you wanted to find that medallion!"

Relieved that he had just walked away, I put the book back on the shelf and made my way in the direction his voice had come from. It didn't really matter to me why some of the cult's books were blank. Knowing them, there was probably some horrible ritual that had to be performed before you could read the pages. When I finally reached George, standing near one of the other doors I had noticed, I decided not to ask. I didn't want to know anything more about the Order than I had to.

He pushed open the wooden door and grabbed an unlit torch from a holder beside the entrance. Lighting it, he smiled and led the way inside.

Following him through the dark halls and chambers, my appreciation for the vastness of this facility grew even stronger. I had no idea how far underground we had gone, but it had to be far because of how high the ceilings were. Fine furniture filled some rooms, laid out in perfect condition beneath a sheet of dust, as if it were waiting for its owners to step in from another time. Chandeliers hung from the few rooms with lower ceilings, gleaming in the firelight despite the cobwebs and grime. Statues both beautiful and terrible greeted us as we descended a grand staircase and passed a forlorn gallery of art that no one had seen in years. Stone gave way to plush carpet, and brocade drapes divided rooms and covered walls that could never have used windows.

Each step took me deeper into a world more mysterious than even what I had come to expect from the Otherworlds. This building didn't belong buried beneath the cult's orphanage. As George led me through a small parlor and twisted a lamp on the wall to reveal another secret door, I found myself wondering if the cult had messed up a ritual and accidentally summoned the Gothic instead of their God.

The passage took us to a staircase of narrow, roughly-cut stone steps, which led down it a tight spiral before emerging onto a dark crypt. George stuck the torch into an empty sconce on the wall and crossed the room with quick, broad strides. I followed more slowly, looking from side to side to take in everything around me. For a place of the dead, this room had been built with great love. The walls met the ceiling in graceful arcs, and the marble floor shone. White pillars lined the walls, with alcoves between each pair. The coffins pushed back into these recesses were made out of fine wood and carved with intricate designs; from an objective perspective, I could almost say they were beautiful.

George was heading for the far side of the room, where a final coffin rested all alone. I counted on my way to join him, and realized that there were ten on each side of the room—with the final one, that made 21 in total. It could not be a coincidence. I felt a morbid urge to open every coffin to see which already had bodies and which did not.

The lone coffin at the end of the room had a golden crest embedded at its head. The Halo of the Sun was emblazoned on the metal. George bent down and pulled it free.

"George," I asked, looking down at the coffin and wondering why it had such a prominent place. "What is this place?"

"It's a crypt," he said, twirling the medallion between his fingers. "Or a mausoleum. Is there a difference? I can never remember."

Rolling my eyes, I asked, "But why is it here? Did Archbolt bring these coffins here, too?"

"Oh no," he said, laughing. "He had nothing to do with this. I'd explain, but it would take far too long. Do you want to get out of here, or not?"

"Yes, let's go," I said, giving the coffins a final look and then hurrying towards the door.

Once I was out of the crypt, however, my haste diminished. I stopped so that George could lead the way, but I found myself lingering by doorways and stopping to look around corners. This place was huge, and something about it made me want to see every room. For the first time that I could remember, I wanted to explore.

"You do still want to leave, don't you?" George asked.

I turned away from the room I had been peeking into and saw that he had stopped at the end of the hallway, apparently realizing I was no longer following. "Of course I do. I just…I almost wish I could return here someday."

"Nothing's stopping you," he said with a laugh. "Call on me anytime, and we can come back. We could stay for hours, perusing the knowledge of the ancients and discovering the wonders of the secret rooms. Who knows what we may discover? This place holds many mysteries, and few are left to uncover them. We could even stay now, if you want to."

I was tempted. I could imagine myself sitting at one of those desks, discovering the secrets of the Order by candlelight. Maybe they even had something there that would tell me how to unravel the Otherworlds. I wouldn't be shocked if the library contained such information; it had books on Aglaophotis and the Metatron, after all. It might be worth taking the time to search.

Then I thought about Eileen. Wherever she had gone, she was in more danger if she was alone. Searching the library would take a very long time, and even if I found information in time to save myself, the murderer might have already reached her by then.

"No," I said, putting more conviction into my voice than I felt. "I have to press on."

"Very well," George said.

We retraced our steps through the building until we were finally crossing through the enormous library again. He left the torches lit and muttered something under his breath about a research project. I gave the books a wistful look, noticing several worn bindings that mentioned the Holy Mother, and wished there was a way I could stay and help him with his research.

_What's the matter with you? _I asked myself. _You've never wanted to stay behind in an Otherworld before._

_This is different,_ I argued. _Books… knowledge…_

Instead of arguing with myself further, I wondered if I had unlocked a piece of my past. Room 302 had held no signs of my occupation, but there had been some books. Perhaps I had been some sort of scholar. Then again, Jasper had indicated that we had classes together. I was probably in school. I wondered what field I was in. I hoped it was something that involved research, maybe even research that would lead me back to this library.

I gave myself a shake. No matter what George thought, this was not the real world. Once I returned to the real world, there was a chance this building wouldn't even exist. And even if it did, it would take a lot more than a love of research to get me near anything related to Silent Hill or its cult.

We returned to the room directly beneath the orphanage and passed the altar to reach the locked door. George placed the medallion firmly into the indentation, and there was a soft _click_ as the door unlocked. He opened it and bowed.

"Thanks," I said, stepping through onto the spiral staircase. The cold air made me shiver and pull my coat more tightly around me. I turned back to him, wondering if he would believe me about the Otherworlds if he saw the fog and the corpses, but I didn't have the heart to ask.

"Not a problem," he said, waving away my thanks. "Anytime. I know this place like the back of my hand. Don't hesitate to call on me for help. Anything for a friend."

I hesitated, staring at this man who knew so many strange things and claimed to be my friend. "I do have a question," I said slowly, "about that crypt you showed me."

He nodded for me to continue.

"The coffin you took that medallion from…whose is it?"

George grinned. "Oh, for a minute there, I thought you were going to ask me something hard! That's an easy one; it's Walter Sullivan's coffin!"

Time seemed to freeze around me as I processed what he had said. It took me a minute to regain the ability to form words. "That's impossible," I whispered. "His grave is aboveground. I've seen his coffin! The one with 11/21 on it!"

"Ah," he said, his eyes twinkling, "but is he _in_ that coffin?"

I hadn't looked, but Joseph had. "No…"

"Well there you have it!" He laughed. "Oh, you thought the empty coffin meant that he never died, right?"

"No," I said slowly, thinking things through. "I know he died, George. He performed the Holy Assumption and continued killing people from beyond the grave!"

George folded his arms. "And you think he's still doing it, don't you? What would you say if I told you that he had been stopped before he could complete the ritual? It would definitely be real, not a trick, as long as his body was moved, because the body of the Conjurer is a part of the ritual. Walter Sullivan was _stopped_, and his body was moved to the crypt you just saw. The Order takes care of its own."

I stared at him, not sure if he was telling the truth or if he was just trying to confuse me further. And something about the tone of his voice bothered me. "The way you speak about the Order," I said quietly. "You…you're one of them, aren't you?"

He smiled. "Is that important?"

"Yes!" I cried. "Yes, it is _very_ important! If you're one of them… one of those people… I can't trust you if you are!"

His smile faded, and his eyes became cold. "If that's how you feel…if you condemn every member of the Order so harshly…then I suggest you think about our past friendship—and what it says about _you_."

While I was still staring at him, trying to understand what he meant, he slammed the door in my face and left me standing alone in the fog.


	17. Chapter 17: Hostility

"_Wasted… confusion…  
__Deadly… illusion…  
__Nightmare… intrusion!"  
_-Akira Yamaoka, "One More Soul to the Call"

Chapter 17: Hostility

"You're back!"

Eileen's voice made me jump. I turned around and saw her walking towards me up the steps.

"I'm back?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at her. "You sound as if I went off somewhere. You're the one who left! How did you get here without the medallion?"

"What?" Her eyes widened. "What are you talking about? You just disappeared again!"

My stomach twisted. "No, Eileen. _You're_ the one who disappeared."

She stared at me for a moment and then put her face in her hands. "What's happening to us?"

"I don't know," I whispered, staring out into the fog. I couldn't have imagined her disappearance. George had been with me, and he knew she was the one who left. Unless he had somehow taken me away from her, into another part of the Otherworld—something which seemed entirely possible now that I knew what he was.

Eileen put her hand on my shoulder. "It doesn't matter what happened. We're together again, and that's the important thing. We can get through this as long as we're together."

"Yeah." I took a deep breath. "We should keep moving. We need to get out of here."

She stayed close by my side as we descended through the fog, and I was glad for the company. I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts right now. George was a member of the Order. How many times had he lied to me? I had wanted to believe that he was well-intentioned, just confused, when it came to my problems and the Otherworlds. Now I feared he knew everything about them.

He said he was my friend. I had trusted him.

_"If that's how you feel…if you condemn every member of the Order so harshly…then I suggest you think about our past friendship—and what it says about _you_."_

With a start, I looked from side to side. He wasn't there. The voice had been too vivid to just be a memory—another hallucination, then. I smiled reassuringly in response to Eileen's concerned look and thought about what George had said.

Was he implying that I was a member of the Order, too? My mind recoiled at the thought. If we were friends, it was certainly possible…but how did I even know we were friends? I only had his word on that. I had no memories of my own to support his claim or even to test his knowledge of me with. Then again, that was almost too fantastic to believe. What would his motive be? And even Eileen had suggested that I had ties to the Order.

A much more interesting thought struck me suddenly. What if she was right, and something I had learned from the Order gave me the ability to stop the 21 Sacraments before they could be completed? That knowledge was lost to me along with the rest of my past. The murderer would not want me to remember anything, especially about the Order. What if George was opposing him and trying to trigger my memories so that I could stop the ritual?

The possibility excited me, and the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that it was true.

"Eileen, I've been thinking about what you said in the forest," I said, turning to her. "I think you might be right. My past could be the key to all of this."

She smiled. "Then we'll do everything we can to figure it out."

The door at the end of the staircase led into a small, round room, with an elevator inside. The minute we stepped inside the elevator, it began moving downwards. I wondered if we were actually going to end up on the roof of the Water Prison. I didn't remember seeing an elevator shaft above it before, but the logic of the Otherworlds had never made sense. The important thing was that we were going down, just like Joseph had advised us.

"What do you know about me?" I asked, as I waited for the elevator to reach its destination.

"Well, like I said, you never talked very much about your past." She shrugged. "I didn't know you very well until you moved into Room 302. You were quiet… You loved to read… You had a strange love-hate relationship with Silent Hill. You seemed fascinated by it, but at the same time, afraid. I always wondered if you had lived there once, or if you had just run afoul of the cult. You never provided answers."

"I wish I had," I muttered. "Then you would be able to tell me."

"And I wish I could be more helpful," she said. She bit her lip. "Is there anything you want to know in particular?"

"What were we?" I asked. "Just friends, or…?"

"That's one of your priorities right now? How is that going to help?"

I blushed. Already I wasn't sure why I had asked. "I was…just curious."

Eileen smiled. "We were close friends. If I had known before that it would be such a point of interest, maybe that would have been different."

My blush deepened. "What about Cynthia?"

"Oh," she said. "Cynthia. You were involved with her, were you?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "Cynthia says we were, but since I can't remember anything…I mean, I can't actually say for sure…"

She laughed and patted me on the shoulder as the elevator halted its descent at last. "Relax. We have more important things to take care of right now. Once we're sure we aren't going to be horribly murdered, then we can figure out the rest."

"All right," I agreed, already wishing I hadn't brought it up at all.

We left the elevator and found ourselves in another round room similar to the one we had seen at the start. I unlocked the door and remembered that there had been a locked area at the center of the roof that I had seen just before the ice had covered the Water Prison. I opened it and looked out. Sure enough, that was where we were.

The roof no longer looked like any sort of courtroom. It was simply a roof, covered in fog, and empty except for one man looking out over the edge.

"Joseph!" Eileen cried, running past me. She stopped just inches away from him. "It's true! You're really still alive!"

He turned around, eyes wide.

"You were wrong," I said, joining them. "Eileen recovered. You thought it was too late."

Joseph looked faintly bewildered. He looked at Eileen, then at me, and then back at Eileen. Then he rubbed his forehead and looked at us again. "I knew this was going to be difficult," he said. "I just didn't realize it was going to be _this_ difficult."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, then frowned and shook his head. "Never mind. We need to get out of here. There's a door in the deepest part of the basement. Unfortunately, the door leading down to the lower part of the staircase is locked. I'm not sure where the key is; I've looked around and haven't seen anything obvious. I suspect the door in the basement will be locked as well."

"Should we split up?" Eileen asked, sounding uncertain.

"No!" Joseph and I shouted at the same time. He glanced at me, and I said, "I just think it's a really bad idea to split up in a place like this. Things keep happening to force me apart from the people I'm with, and one of these times, it's going to be disastrous."

He nodded. "We need to stick together."

As we left the roof, I felt more confident than I had in a long time. With the three of us working together at last, it seemed impossible that anything could go wrong. Of course, the ice could come and split us up again, but somehow it seemed less likely when there were three of us. Joseph had survived here for such a long that that he had to be aware of everything that could happen in the Otherworlds.

All was well as we descended the stairs through the cool air. I pulled my coat a little tighter around myself but paused as I noticed Joseph looking at me. There was a strange expression on his face. Before I could say anything, he turned his attention to the steps in front of us, and I was left wondering if it had been just my imagination or if something was up.

Once we reached the doors to the uppermost floor, we went inside and began to look around. The prison looked even more dismal than it had when it had been underwater. The walls were dingy and watermarked, with streaks of blood marring the plaster. The cells were cramped and dark, and most had old bloodstains covered the walls and beds. My uneasiness was heightened by the sense the company I now kept.

Entering one of the cells first, the hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I turned my head to see that Joseph's gaze was fixed on me again. His eyes were bright and distant. I turned away and tried to think back to what I knew about him. He would have been trapped in the Otherworlds for quite some time. Could it have begun to drive him mad?

The cell I had entered was one of the ones with a hole in the floor. I remembered my perilous swim through the building and repressed a grimace of distaste.

"Interesting," Joseph said, entering the room with me and squinting down into the hole. "I wonder if this could get us into the locked section…"

"It should," I said, remembering how I had used them to travel on my previous trip. I frowned at him. "Wait, I thought you said you had looked around already. Why didn't you already find the hole?"

He met my gaze steadily. "I began to search, but when I heard the elevator in motion, I went to the roof to see who was coming. Is there a problem with that?"

"No, of course not," I said, although I wasn't sure if I believed him or not. "What do we do now? Should we all jump down and see what we can find?"

"All of us?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Surely only one of us needs to go."

"Wait," Eileen cut in, giving him a sharp look. "I thought we agreed that we shouldn't split up."

Joseph turned to her. "That's true, but I'm concerned about your safety."

"If you two can jump down there with no problem, I'm sure I can, too," she said.

"Then we'll all go together," I said, in a firm tone that I hoped would settle the matter. I didn't like the idea of leaving Eileen by herself, but I wasn't sure I trusted Joseph enough to either leave him with her or leave him alone.

_Surely you don't believe what Cynthia said? If it wasn't for Joseph's notes, you would be long lost._

_ But almost everything I believe to be true is based on those notes…_

"After you," Joseph said, waving his hand towards the hole and eyeing me with a sardonic twist to his mouth. "Unless, of course, you don't trust me to follow."

I narrowed my eyes at him. That sounded like a challenge. I almost jumped just to prove to him that I wouldn't be intimidated, but I hesitated. It also could be a trap, banking on me reacting in just that way. If only there was some way for me to determine for sure if I could trust him or not.

"You don't, do you?" he asked. "If we're going to see this thing through to the end, we have to trust one another."

"I just don't want to go first," I said. Then I smiled, because two could play at that game. "Why don't you go first? Unless, of course, you don't trust _me_."

All traces of humor faded from his face as he looked at me. He didn't say a word, but in that moment, I realized something very startling. He wasn't willing to do it, and it wasn't just a matter of pride at having challenged me first. Something in his eyes told me that either he had a hidden motive for sending me on ahead, or he really didn't trust me. A chill ran through me. I had done nothing to make Joseph mistrust me. If he was really who he seemed to be, he had to know we were on the same side.

"Why don't you want to go first?" he asked. "You must know if it's safe. After all…you're the one who knows this will get us to the basement."

I bristled. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing," he said with a smile. "Why? Is there something I _should_ be implying?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why won't you go first?"

"This is ridiculous!" Eileen cried, glaring at both of us. "What's gotten into the two of you? Do you honestly not trust each other? We're all in the same position here! Why would any of us betray the others?"

I looked down at the ground, not knowing what to say. I felt ashamed, and yet I still wasn't sure I could trust Joseph. I didn't know how to explain it.

She shook her head. "Well, if neither one of you trusts the other to go first…" Before either of us could do anything, she had stepped past us and jumped through the hole.

"Eileen!" I shouted. Unwilling to let her go on alone, I leaped into the hole without a second thought.

xXx

Two jumps later, I was standing beside Eileen in the bloody kitchen. It looked horrible. My skin crawled just at the thought of being near the walls covered with unspeakable grime, and I thought to myself that when I saw the kitchen like this, I could very easily believe that orphans had been killed and served as food here by the sadists employed by the Order.

_Speaking of such people…_

My gaze went to the door where I had found Andrew's dead body.

_He deserved it,_ part of me whispered.

"What are you looking at?" Eileen asked, putting her hand on my arm. "What's through that door?"

"I'm not sure," I said, swallowing hard. "The last time I was here, I found one of the victims there."

"How awful!" she exclaimed.

"Not really," I muttered, as Joseph landed behind us. "He was a guard who had worked at the prison here, and…well, if I had been one of the kids kept here, I'd have probably wanted to murder him, too."

She withdrew slightly, looking disturbed.

"Yes, the Order did many evil things," Joseph said, joining us. "And I apologize for doubting you—it does appear that we made it to the basement. Shall we have a look around?"

"Let's check that room first," Eileen said, nodding towards the one I had indicated.

I didn't relish the idea of returning to that death chamber with all of its terrible equipment, but they both marched towards the door and I wasn't going to be left behind. Hurrying after them, I waited while Joseph opened the door, and then I followed them in.

The room hadn't changed much. I looked around at the bloody, rusty saws and contraptions that hung from the ceiling and littered the floor, and I reflected that this was the stuff nightmares were made of. If this sort of thing existed in the murderer's nightmares, I was only surprised the entire staff of the prison hadn't made its way into the 21 Sacraments.

_You can't just arbitrarily assign victims roles to play in the ritual, I guess._

"Aha, and what is this?" Joseph asked, walking to the central platform where Andrew's body had been on my first visit. He picked up a bloody shirt that lay on the ground. "Strange…this seems rather out of place."

Eileen joined him to look at it. "Maybe it's a clue!"

Old, rumpled, and bloodstained, it was a fairly disgusting shirt. It didn't look at all like a clue to me.

"There's something written on it," he said, studying it closely. "It's written in wax, and I can't make it out. If only we had a dark liquid to soak it in…"

"Is this really important?" I asked, feeling suddenly impatient. "We're down in the basement now, so how do we even know the other door will be locked? We should at least go and try it."

"Very well," Joseph said stiffly, giving me another unreadable look before folding the shirt over his arm and leaving the room.

I stared after him, feeling more confused by the minute.

Eileen put her hand on my shoulder. "You can trust him, you know. Joseph is a good guy."

"I hope you're right," I said, taking a final look around the horrible room before leaving.

Joseph led the way back through the rooms to the staircase, and then we walked down the final stretch into the deepest basement. While he crossed the room to check on the door, I watched the waterwheel turn and tried not to think about how the water had come from nowhere to fill the prison and nearly drown me. That was not going to happen again. Everything was running smoothly. I also told myself that I could not hear monsters screeching, flapping, _or_ groaning in the distance. We were perfectly safe, or at least as safe as we could be in the Otherworlds.

He returned to us after a moment and shook his head. "Locked."

That was disappointing. This place was giving me the creeps.

"I had an idea though," he said. He looked at me. "Is the bathtub in Room 302 still filled with blood instead of water?"

"I think so," I said, taken aback by the question.

He held out the shirt to me. "If you soak the shirt in that blood, we should be able to read the writing!"

I accepted it gingerly, wondering how he thought this was going to work. I laid the shirt across my arm. "You realize I don't choose when I return to the apartment, right? Do you plan on just waiting around for something to happen?"

Joseph shook his head. "I think we need to figure out exactly what causes you to return."

"I haven't noticed a pattern," I said with a frown. "Most of the time, it happened when I found a victim."

"It also happened when I told you about Dahlia," Eileen pointed out.

He tapped his chin with a contemplative look on his face and paced back and forth. "Yes," he said quietly, "finding a pattern could work. On the other hand, maybe we could spend our time doing more important things. Maybe we need to solve the mystery of your past."

"Wait, how do you know about that?" I asked nervously.

"I heard you talking when you arrived. Why so suspicious?"

"No reason," I said, trying hard to remember if that was possible. Had we still been talking about my past when we left the elevator?

"Anyway," he continued, "I didn't know you, so we'll have to rely on Eileen for this."

"But we've already tried," she said, looking surprised. She lowered her head. "I wasn't able to think of anything that could help us."

"Maybe I can help," he said, smiling. "Eileen, I want you to close your eyes and concentrate. Go back into the past. Think back to the time you first met Henry Townshend. How was he dressed? How was his hair cut? What are the first words he said? What was your impression of him?"

She complied and her face went blank. "I…" Her voice was distant and faint. "It's so vague… it's like my memories are blocked…by some sort of haze…"

I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. Could whatever power that had wiped out my memories also have targeted the key memories she had of me?

"Concentrate," he hissed, eyes glinting with intensity as he stared at her. "Pierce the veil of fog that has come between us and the truth! You are the one; I can feel it! Travel back to that day! Seize the answers and hold them fast!"

A light gasp escaped Eileen. "Yes…yes… I remember everything…" Her forehead creased as she frowned. "But…I don't understand…"

"It doesn't matter! Open your eyes and tell us what you know!" he urged.

Her eyelids fluttered. She stared at the two of us in silence for a moment, frowning and raising a hand to her forehead. Then she screamed, stumbling backwards towards the waterwheel.

"Eileen!" I shouted, dashing towards her. "What is it?"

"Tell us!" Joseph demanded, grabbing her arm to keep her from falling.

She shook her head, eyes going wide. "I don't… No… No!"

"Quickly!" he yelled. "Tell us, before it's too late!"

Eileen tore her arm from his grip and turned to run. She only made it a few feet before stumbling, and for a moment I saw her covered in dark bruises again, a bloody taint trying to consume her. The image passed within a second, but I darted forward, getting in between her and Joseph.

Reaching her before he could, I caught her shoulders and pulled her towards me. "It's all right, Eileen. Whatever it is, I'll protect you."

"No!" she cried, trying to twist out of my grip. "Let me go! I've got to get out of here!"

"You're safe with me," I protested, glancing at Joseph, who had stalked around us to stand on the other side of Eileen.

Sobbing, she drummed her fists against my chest until I reluctantly let her go. The evil bruises flickered across her face for a fleeting instant. She stared up at Joseph, shaking her head. Moving cautiously, she edged away from the two of us, not running anymore, but just staring with wide eyes and a mix of fear and confusion on her face.

"Danger," she gasped, putting her face in her hands and stumbling backwards. "I'm in danger if I stay here!"

"From who?" I asked, just barely resisting the urge to shoot another suspicious look in Joseph's direction.

He looked at her closely, his expression unreadable. "Eileen…is Walter Sullivan here?"

She looked up, her lip trembling. "W-Walter Sullivan?"

I gave him a sharp look, opening my mouth to ask why he thought she would be the only one to know if he was nearby, but then my headache magnified, sending a sharp pain through my mind. _She's being taken over…_ A voice that was not my own, that echoed like it came from the depths of some unholy grave, rode into my thoughts on the waves of pain. _She's Number 20… The Mother Reborn…_ The knowledge came from nowhere, as if from some forgotten book read during my lost past—the Conjurer could possess the Mother Reborn. He…could possess Eileen. I felt dizzy, and the room seemed to dim around me slightly.

"Yes!" Joseph shouted. "Walter Sullivan! Eileen, whatever you know, you have to tell us about it! _Now!_"

I started to tell him to leave her alone, but the words stopped somewhere in my throat. I blinked through a haze and wondered why they seemed so far away.

Eileen cried out and fell to her knees, gripping her head. "I can't! Choking… The answer…burning away! No! Get away from me! Leave me alone!"

I took a wobbling step towards Joseph. "Are you doing—" I tried to finish the sentence, but the world was blurring and fading, leading to only cold, blood-streaked darkness.

xXx

When I opened my eyes and saw Room 302, my first reaction was one of horror. It wasn't just that my surroundings were getting more terrifying by the day—it wouldn't be long now before this place matched the room from the nightmares—but also that I had left Eileen behind. Even if Joseph could be trusted, something had been happening to her.

I had to get back and help her.

I leaped out of bed, and something fell from my arm onto the bed. It was the bloody shirt that we had found in the basement of the Water Prison. I remembered what Joseph had said and picked it up with a sigh. I could spare the few seconds it would take to soak it in blood and see if anything happened.

Taking the shirt to the bathroom, I knelt by the tub and studied the crimson contents. How had I ever once thought that was just bloody water? It was blood, not diluted even a little bit. As I lowered the shirt in the liquid and the blood ran across my hands, I noticed that it was still warm and flowing, despite the length of time it had been sitting alone in my apartment. I had the image in my mind of the victims' blood, pouring out into Room 302 as the ghosts haunted the Otherworlds in pursuit of violence and vengeance.

Deciding the shirt had to be soaked by now, I pulled it out and took a look at it. The wax writing was readable.

_My room is on the 2__nd__ floor and I had to  
__drink something with black things in it.  
__I hid the sword with the triangle handle under my bed.  
__That guy, the fat one, took the basement key.  
__Next time I'll stick this triangle sword into that pig  
__and take the key._

"Well, that's helpful," I muttered, as I squeezed the excess blood from the shirt and wiped my hands clean on my coat for lack of something better to use. "DeSalvo had the key, and now he's dead. I'll leave that one for Joseph to figure out."

Chuckling, I left the bathroom and headed for the living room. Instead, I hit a wall.

Blinking in confusion, I realized that I had gone in the wrong direction. I shook my head and turned around. So much time in the Otherworlds was muddling my mind.

The living room looked even worse than the bedroom had. It had the same blood-tinged walls, but the corners were marred by pulsating veins that seemed to glow from within. I could hear strange noises, whispers and faint cries, none of which had a clear source. The TV was blaring with static, and when I looked at the screen, it was just a fuzzy image that occasionally blurred into the image of someone I couldn't quite make out. A general feeling of death and despair hung in the air.

I opened up the storage box and put the shirt inside. I could remember what it said; if Joseph didn't believe me, then he could come to Room 302 and see for himself.

Another red note had been shoved beneath the door, and I went over to grab it, ignoring the blood dripping from the peephole.

_I'm going to summarize everything that I've learned about  
__Walter Sullivan so far.  
__He was born right here in Room 302 of South Ashfield Heights.  
__His parents abandoned him soon afterwards and disappeared somewhere,  
__leaving the baby alone.  
__He was discovered and sent to St. Jerome's Hospital.  
__He was "adopted" by Wish House, an orphanage in the forest  
__near Silent Hill that's run by the secret  
__Silent Hill religious cult.  
__When he was six years old, someone from the cult showed him  
__where he was born.  
__Since then, he started to believe that Room 302 itself—  
__in other words, this room—  
__was his mother.  
Every week he traveled from the orphanage to  
__South Ashfield Heights, a pretty long trip for a kid his age.  
__Sometimes he took the subway,  
__and sometimes the bus.  
__  
__I'm tired.  
__My headache is already killing me.  
__I'll write more tomorrow.  
__July 28_

I took the note to my scrapbook and decided that I had wasted too much time already. I needed to get back to Eileen.

For the first time in a long time, I felt enthusiastic about climbing through the hole.

xXx

When I opened my eyes, I was not in the basement of the Water Prison. I was staring up at fog that seemed to stretch on forever.

Alarmed, I leaped to my feet and saw Joseph and Eileen standing nearby. Eileen looked quite peaceful. My heart rate slowly calmed as I realized that I was on the roof of the prison.

"Sorry to startle you," Joseph said. "Eileen told me about how in the forest, when she went to a different area after you disappeared, you reappeared there. We decided to experiment. Understanding how your transitions to and from Room 302 work might be a key to this puzzle."

I didn't like the idea that they could have left me to wake up all by myself in the basement. I wouldn't have known what was going on, and I would have reacted with both fear and anger. Still, I decided to let it pass for the time being. "What happened?" I asked. "Eileen, what did you learn?"

She shook her head, looking down at the ground with a rueful expression. "I'm so sorry. Before I could say anything helpful, whatever I knew—and whatever had scared me—retreated to where it was locked away before. I can sense it, just out of reach, but I can't get to it no matter what I do."

"So we still know nothing useful about my past, and for all we know, the murderer is either supernaturally stalking us at this very moment or possessing—one of us," I said, quickly changing the end of my sentence rather than draw attention to the fact that Eileen was the one in the most danger.

"Sums it up fairly well," Joseph said with a grim smile.

"No answers, just more questions," Eileen whispered.

I nodded. "Well, here's another riddle for us to solve." I related back to them what had been written on the bloody shirt, and added my conclusion that Andrew DeSalvo was in possession of the key. "The question is, how do we get it when his body is nowhere to be seen?"

They frowned in silence for a few moments, until it was shattered by Joseph letting out a hysterical laugh. Eileen edged away from him, her frown deepening.

"It's simple, isn't it?" he asked, still laughing. "Your sword! Stick a sword into Andrew, eh? Those swords work on _ghosts_! We have to find his ghost and pin him down long enough to grab the key!"

"How horrible!" Eileen cried.

I looked down at the sword I still carried with me. It had saved me from the ghosts before, but… I drew it and held it out. "Can you use one of these well enough to beat a ghost into submission?"

He grinned. "Of course not. But you can."

"Me?" I yelped, wondering if he had lost his mind.

"Certainly!" He held out his arms, looking darkly amused. "Eileen and I don't even have weapons. You have both a gun and a sword, so you should be able to handle this ghost whenever we find him."

"Wait just one minute!" I snapped. "I can barely use either of these things! I don't know how to fight!" I stepped towards him, trying to hand him the sword. "You must know something about fighting, at least more than I do, because I'm useless, so you just take it!"

Joseph's smile faded, and he gave me a level look. Then he slowly extended his hand and took the sword. As his hand closed around the hilt, I breathed sigh of relief—a sigh that was cut short as he abruptly lunged towards me, blade flashing.

I jumped backwards, heart pounding. Made to work on ghosts or not, the blade of that sword sure looked to me like it would cut flesh well enough.

"What are you doing?" Eileen cried, putting her hands over her mouth in horror.

Joseph didn't answer. He advanced on me, staring at me with a disturbingly intent gaze, and then with a burst of speed, he closed in and brought the sword slashing down towards me. Judging by its arc that I had no shot of dodging in time, I snapped up my hand to grab his wrist. Bending his arm backwards so that the sword was held away from me, I sensed his other hand swinging towards me in a fist. I twisted away, and his blow caught only air. At the same time, I brought my other hand down in a sharp chop to his sword hand, disarming him.

The sword flew over my shoulder, and I pushed off of the roof with my legs. Separating from Joseph, I lunged backwards and caught the sword. Not pausing to think, I drove it forward until it was only a millimeter away from the other man's neck.

I grabbed his shoulder in an iron grip so that he couldn't just walk away. "What was _that_ about?" I snarled, breathing heavily. Fury was pumping through me, filling my veins. He had attacked me. Joseph, who was supposed to be my ally, had tried to kill me.

He started laughing, heedless of the blade so close to him. "See? You can fight after all, it would seem."

I let him go and lowered the sword, staring at him with disbelief. That had been a test, just to see if I could defend myself? "You could have killed me!" I spat.

Joseph shook his head and gave me a cool look. "And…would it have stuck?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" I demanded, but then I remembered the shot to the face in that icy room—the shot that should have killed me, but had only sent me back to the apartment unscathed.

"You know," he said, walking a few paces away, "I'm not sure I can trust you. The rules of the Otherworlds work differently for you, you have a friendship with Jimmy Stone's right-hand man, and for someone who can't fight, you reacted to my attack with impressive competence…"

"You can't trust me?" I asked, stalking towards him and grabbing his shoulder again. I turned him around to face me. "_You_ can't trust _me_? I'm not the one who goes around attacking my allies based on a vague hunch!"

His eyebrows lifted. "From your tone, am I to understand that you regard me with some suspicion?"

Eileen ran forward and stepped in between us. "Please, stop fighting!"

"Stay out of this," Joseph said, pushing her to the side.

"Don't you dare touch her!" I shouted. "For all I know, you're the one who attacked her in the first place!"

Silence followed my accusation, and I saw Eileen's eyes widen in shock. For a moment, I thought I saw blood running down her face, and then it was gone.

"Why?" Joseph asked, very quietly, very seriously.

I took a deep breath and glared at him, trying to dig the truth out of him with the force of my stare. "You know more about the Otherworlds than anyone, but you can't seem to help us. The only people who should be here are victims—and you've been here for years, but you're still alive. How did you survive for that long? Why would the murderer continue with the ritual if you were still alive?" I gathered my nerve, knowing that once I had said what was on my mind, I could never take the words back. "I think I was attacked by him once, but if I even got to see his face, it was erased from my memory. Eileen has no memory of being attacked at all. And George says that _Walter Sullivan's_ attempt to complete the 21 Sacraments was thwarted. It's obviously started up again…and I'm not sure he's the true threat at all…"

Joseph's eyes grew wider and wider throughout my speech, and when I was done, he laughed. "You think _I'm_ the murderer? That's absurd!"

I refused to let his mocking laughter intimidate me. I met his gaze steadily. "Then start explaining some things."

His expression sobered, and he nodded slowly. "Very well. You want to know the truth? Do you? Where shall we start?"

Watching him carefully for any sign that he was going to trick me, I asked, "How did you survive all this time?"

"How did I survive?" he repeated, with another laugh. "How did I survive? Very well, I'll tell you—_I didn't!_"

His lips froze as soon as the words left them, blue with the ice that blossomed out of him to cover the entire area. Before I could even react, it had claimed Eileen and spread across the roof and down along the walls of prison. It shot upwards, coating the elevator shaft that had brought us there, and icicles formed in the fog, raining down on me as I stared at Joseph Schreiber in shock and confusion.


	18. Chapter 18: The Mother Reborn

"_Hex me, told her,  
__I dreamt of a devil that knew her…"  
_-Jack Off Jill, "Strawberry Gashes"

Chapter 18: The Mother Reborn

The ground I was standing on cracked and shifted slightly under the force of the ice, but I barely noticed. I was standing on the roof of the Water Prison, staring at the frozen form of Joseph Schreiber. He hadn't survived? What did that mean? He certainly didn't act the way the rest of the ghosts did, if that was it.

A _thud_ came from somewhere below me, followed by the sound of footsteps running up the stairs. I grabbed the hilt of my sword and braced myself. The ghosts didn't have footsteps, so the only thing I could imagine was that the murderer was coming for me. Either way, something bad was definitely going on. It felt like the entire building was shaking.

George Rosten came into sight as he raced up the stairs towards me. "I'm starting to believe you—disaster has a way of following you around! Where the heck did all this ice come from?"

I stared at him, paralyzed. I had never seen another person in the ice world before; the ice had always isolated me from everyone else, him included. Now this cultist who claimed to be my friend was here in the ice world with me… _You have a friendship with Jimmy Stone's right-hand man… _Joseph's accusation returned to me, and I gulped. George had mentioned Jimmy Stone, but he had lied about who he was. He had lied to me about being connected to the cult at all.

"Come on!" he shouted, grabbing my arm. "This sudden freeze destabilized something, and now the entire place is falling apart!"

"How do I know I can trust you?" I whispered.

He let out a groan. "This is not a good time, kid! I believe you about the crazy ice, okay? Now, take a look around like I did, and I bet you can believe me about the building!"

The roof shuddered, and a large crack appeared between me and my frozen companions, tilting the ground on which I had been standing. I toppled backwards, but George's grip on my arm kept me from falling. I nodded, not knowing what else I could do but trust him.

He clapped me on the shoulder with a relieved smile, and then he took off down the steps again, with me following behind him as quickly as I could. The ice beneath my feet made me nervous, but the damage being done to the prison was obvious enough that I didn't dare slow down. The walls were crumbling, bits of ice falling away with pieces of stone and plaster clenched in their cold clutches.

We reached the door to the third floor and I reached towards it, but George grabbed me and yanked me further on.

"What are you doing?" I shouted. "We can get to the basement from inside!"

"I just came from there!" he yelled back. "You go in there, something'll hit you on the head and kill you! It's not safe!"

"And this _is_ safe?" I demanded, as a chunk of stairs we ran across fell away just seconds after our weight was off of it.

"I'd rather be out here than risk being trapped in a tiny cell while the world went to hell around me!" he countered.

Glancing over the edge as I ran, I compared the thought of slipping on a crumbling step and falling to my doom through the fog, to the nightmarish vision of being in a cramped cell with debris blocking the door, unable to budge it. There would be no one to hear me, no one to call to…nothing to wait for except the inevitable darkness of death, as the building fell to pieces around the cramped, claustrophobic space.

He was right. I had been trapped too often already. If I had to die, I wanted it to happen out in the open, where at least I could breathe and see the sunlight.

_Sunlight?_

I looked at the bright light coming through the fog and wondered at the nature of time in these Otherworlds. It had been night in the forest both times I had visited it, but the glow filtering through the mist was not the early light of dawn. It was daytime here, and even the fog couldn't hide that. The sun was warm, cutting through the chill with the promise that it would always be there, waiting for me…

George leaped over a section of weakened stairs. Lost in my reverie about the sun, I moved too late. Metal fell away beneath my feet, and I fell. Reaching out to grab the edge of the staircase, the jagged edge sliced into my hands, and the pain loosened my grip. For a sickening moment, the world spun around me as I fell, and then George caught my wrist.

"Don't go dying on me," he said in a shaky voice, hauling me up and not letting go until I was standing.

"I'll try to be more careful in the future," I said, hoping my sarcasm would disguise how alarmed I had been, not to mention my shock that he had been so quick to help me. I hadn't thought the Order knew the meaning of selflessness. "Let's just get out of here."

"I have yet to hear a better plan," he agreed.

We took off down the stairs, and I made sure not to let my mind wander this time. As much as I wanted to muse about George and the cult, I fixed my concentration on only one thing—getting down the stairs intact. We spiraled lower and lower, passing the door to the second floor. The entire platform in front of the door plummeted behind us, crashing down on the lower part of the staircase and sending up a spray of plaster. I didn't waste any time thinking about what we would do if it had destroyed a lower portion of the stairs. I just had to work on the next step, and then the next one after that.

A few steps later, I made the mistake of looking up. What I saw was an incomplete building—entire sections of the third floor's wall had fallen onto the staircase, leaving gaping holes.

_The key had better not be up there,_ I thought grimly, imagining it falling through the fog and leaving us stranded here.

To my vast relief, the door leading to the inner staircase was unlocked. When we reached the door leading to the first floor, George stopped and let out a deep sigh. "For a while there, I didn't think we were going to make it."

"We haven't yet," I pointed out. "We still need to get to the basement."

"The basement?" he repeated. "Were you going to try to get out that way? That will leave you trapped in the Otherworlds!"

Stunned, I asked, "You believe me about that now?"

He waved his hand around at the ice coating the wall of the prison. "Do I really have a choice?" He shook his head. "Everything I said to you at the orphanage was true, so I have no idea how this is possible. All I know is that I can get us out through a secret door on the first floor."

"What about Eileen? She'll be trapped here alone."

George frowned. "She's still here? Where is she?"

"When the ice comes, it separates me from whoever I'm with. We've always met again later on, but if I leave the Otherworlds entirely—"

He held up his hands. "Okay, okay. Look, this may be our only chance. Next time, I might not be able to stick with you long enough to get you out of here, and you don't have the power to escape on your own. I can come and go. Let me get you out of here now, and I promise I'll come back for Eileen."

I hesitated.

His eyes narrowed. "Oh, of course. You can't trust me, because I'm a member of the Order. Being the saint that you are, you could never be involved with something so vile."

_Jimmy Stone's right hand man…_

_ I suggest you think about our past friendship—and what it says about you…_

_ You never spoke much about your past. What if there's a link to the Order there?_

"I trust you," I said heavily, reaching towards the first floor doors.

They burst open before I could reach them and pain wracked my body. The howling of the ghosts filled the air, and I saw them climbing out of every crevice in the ruined building. Most of them were already on the first floor, shooting towards us with murder in their eyes.

"On second thought," George yelped, "the basement might be preferable!"

We raced down the stairs with the ghosts tearing after us. Their screeching wails sounded almost as though they contained hidden words, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. I had no intention of slowing down to listen more carefully.

At last, we made it to the basement, and George made a beeline straight for the door Joseph had tried earlier. My heart stopped dead for a moment.

"It's locked!" I cried, joining him. "Andrew DeSalvo had the key!"

He tried to open it futilely and looked back. I followed his gaze and wished I hadn't. The ghosts were pouring in through the walls, bloodshot eyes fixed on us.

"All right," he said, holding up his hands. "Don't panic."

"Don't panic?!" I demanded. "What would you like me to do instead?"

"Concentrate on the door being unlocked."

"_What_?"

He nodded frantically. "I know it sounds absurd, but just listen to me. These Otherworlds were built from memories, fears, dreams—_thoughts_. If we both concentrate hard enough on this tiny change, it should just be enough to make it reality! Concentrate! The door is unlocked, the door is unlocked…"

I closed my eyes as he kept trying the locked door. _No, not locked,_ I told myself. It wasn't like I had a better plan. _It's unlocked. The next time he tries it, it will open. _The ghosts were coming closer and closer. No, I couldn't think about that. _It's unlocked. This time it's going to be unlocked. It has to be unlocked. _They had quieted, not howling as much now that their prey was so near. Closer and closer they glided, bringing a chill to the air. Hate radiated from them in almost tangible waves. _It's unlocked. It's unlocked! _They were almost upon us. Although my eyes were closed, I could picture them in my mind—hands outstretched, a glint of humor in their pallid faces as they prepared to rend flesh and spill blood. _Unlocked, unlocked, unlocked!_

George let out a triumphant cry as the door opened. My eyes snapped open and I broke into a sprint after him just in time. Cold fingers brushed the back of my neck, just missing their hold on me.

The generator room was a frosty wasteland, with sparks flying through the air from the ruined generator. I ignored it all, because I could see the massive door ahead of us, marked with the Halo of the Sun. The ghosts were right on my heels, speeding up and screeching with anger, but George had almost reached the door. He opened it and stepped through.

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and put on a final burst of speed. The air changed around me as my feet hit the staircase between Otherworlds. The door slammed shut behind me, trapping the ghosts on the other side.

xXx

"Are you all right?"

Eileen's startled voice made me open my eyes. Disoriented, I looked at the comparatively pleasant surroundings and sagged against the door with relief. That had been close. I wasn't entirely sure what would happen if the ghosts tried to kill me, but even if I survived, the death itself wouldn't have been pleasant. Here, it was just the two of us, as safe as we could be in the Otherworlds.

I frowned. That wasn't right. "What happened to George?" I asked, looking around.

"George?"

"Yes! He was right here! He ran through the door ahead of me…"

She shook her head and pursed her lips, looking troubled. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive!" I gasped. Unless he had turned back while I was racing to the door, he had gone through.

"Well, the only person I saw come through that door was you."

I groaned and rubbed my head. "I don't understand any of this…"

"Neither do I," she said. Her voice was small and tremulous. "What happened back there? You and Joseph were arguing, and then… I can't remember what happened after that! There's just a blank spot in my memory, between the argument and when I found myself walking down the stairs here."

"Don't be afraid, Eileen," I said, putting my hands on her shoulders and looking into her eyes. "As long as we're together, we still have a chance."

"I know," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and looking away. "I've been thinking a lot about it, and somehow, I just know we have to see this thing through to the end."

I nodded and forced my mind away from thoughts of George. He would be all right. He was only partially connected to the Otherworlds, anyway. He said he could come and go. With the way he disappeared all the time, I wouldn't be surprised if he popped up again somewhere else, completely unconcerned and oblivious about how mysteriously he had vanished. We had to press on until we found a way to escape.

"Promise me."

"What?" I asked, startled.

Eileen took my hands in hers, looking more serious than I had ever seen her. "Promise me that you'll keep going, all the way down, all the way to the very end, no matter what happens. Even if you see something that looks like an escape, don't take it. You have to keep going."

"Eileen, what are you talking about? If we see a way out of here, we should get out!"

"No!"

Bewildered, I took a step away from her. "What?"

Her face crumpled and she bit her lip. Her mouth trembled for a moment, as if she were going to burst into tears, and then she whispered, "I don't understand it, either. It's just something I somehow _know_, like how I knew I had to read the writing in the forest. It's important. If we deviate—if we try to escape early—it's going to be really, really bad."

As uncomfortable as I was with the idea of lingering in our supernatural prison just because of a nebulous feeling, I couldn't bring myself to argue with her when she looked so upset. "All right. Let's just keep going, one step at a time."

"Do you know what's coming next?" she asked, as we descended through the fog, hand in hand for comfort.

"Building World."

"What's that like?"

"It's…" I laughed, remember George dragging me around the Otherworld to reach the bar because he thought getting drunk would solve all my problems. "It's like South Ashfield, just bits and pieces of it all mashed together. There's a lot of stairs and a lot of weird locations. A sporting goods store that leads to a pet shop… I don't even know how to explain it."

She smiled, but then her expression faded into an introspective frown. "I wonder if the locations are significant…"

"You think even the Building World could be an answer to this puzzle?"

"Well, it makes sense," she said. "All of these locations must be significant in some way to Walter, or he wouldn't have fashioned them into his Otherworlds."

_If it even _is_ Walter, _I thought darkly.

"Yes," she continued, as we reached the door at the staircase's abrupt end, "we have to study everything about these Otherworlds. Together, they'll tell us about Walter's mind—and they'll tell us his secrets."

Not at all sure I wanted to know the secrets of the mind that had formed this nightmare, I opened the door and stepped through. For a moment, I saw a parking lot and a rusty fence, with buildings stretching high above my head. Then pain stabbed through me and darkness fell across my eyes and mind.

xXx

I had the sensation of floating in a black void. I opened my eyes as widely as I could, but there was no light to penetrate the darkness around me. In the darkness, I sensed something—not another presence, exactly, but the oppressive sense of fear that had previously afflicted me at the most inconvenient moments possible.

_"Promise me…"_

"Eileen?" I shouted. My voice seemed flat and weak against the darkness. There was no reply.

_"They'll tell us about Walter's mind—and they'll tell us his secrets."_

Her voice echoed, and I realized it was just a memory. She wasn't really here with me. Even as I panicked at the thought of being trapped alone in a place like this, an apartment appeared in front of me. Startled, I tried to step forward, but I couldn't move. I was an observer. It was just another hallucination.

_"Who are you?" Eileen asked. She backed into my view, her eyes wide. It was her apartment I was looking at. "What do you want?"_

_ A shadow fell across her._

"No!" I shouted at the image, realizing what I was seeing. She was wearing that purple dress she had on now, and a stranger was in her apartment. It had to be him. He was coming to attack her.

_Eileen screamed and lifted her hands to shield herself._

I remembered what she had looked like when I finally got into Room 303. Bruised, beaten, lying in a pool of her own blood. "No, I don't want to watch this!" I screamed at the hallucination, shutting my eyes as tightly as I could.

To my amazement, it worked.

There was nothing I could do to block out the sound, however. He was hitting her, slamming her into things; she was screaming, crying for help. I opened my eyes very slowly, so that I could face what he had done and vow my vengeance without being afraid to look at even a hallucination of the man.

Darkness.

_"I want to go back to that time…"_

"What?" The strange, echoing voice wasn't familiar to me at all.

_"Things were so good then… The day of my birthday… The cute cat in the pet store…"_

_ "Continuing from yesterday," Joseph's voice boomed out of nowhere, "I'm going to summarize everything I've learned about Walter Sullivan so far."_

"What is this?" I demanded of the darkness.

_"All those balls in the basket… Playing pool was fun, too…"_

_ Eileen cried out, and was visible again for a moment, falling to the ground from a blow. Blood was running down her face._

_ "Naturally, it was a long way for a kid his age to travel, but he made the trip every week by subway or bus. Unfortunately, someone else was living in this apartment and so he couldn't be reunited with his __mother—Room 302_."

I thought about Joseph, giving me that intent stare as we walked through the prison. There was something strange about him. He was planning something, something he couldn't share with the rest of us.

_"For years, he continued to come here, almost like he was possessed, just to peek into the apartment. Eventually, the tenants began to complain and treat him badly when they saw him hanging around. Walter began to fear the tenants and see them as obstacles preventing him from seeing his mother."_

Richard. That was why Richard Braintree had been murdered. He hadn't been executed at all, no matter what George and Cynthia thought. He had been murdered as part of the 21 Sacraments, given the role of Chaos for the anger he had displayed, all because he couldn't be nice to a little boy.

_ "The door of time was wide open…"_

_ I saw the glinting of a knife. Eileen tried to crawl away, gasping in pain and fear._

_ "As the years passed and Walter matured, he began to be more and more influenced by the teachings of the cult. Furthermore, his obsession with his mother and his feelings of resentment towards the outer world became even deeper."_

I saw Room 302. It was just in front of me. The ghosts were lingering around it, and when they saw me, they reached out their hands, trying to grab me. I shuddered and withdrew.

Building World. There had been so many strange places. What did they mean?

_"Walter became preoccupied with one particular tract from the cult's 'Bible.' 'The Descent of the Holy Mother – The 21 Sacraments.'"_

They blurred through my vision, one after the other. They were places that belonged to his victims, places where he had killed…

_"'By the 21 Sacraments, the Holy Mother shall appear in the countries of the world and shall bring salvation to the sinful ones.'"_

We would study them. Learn who his victims were, and we could learn more about him. There had to be an answer. Somehow, it would all come together.

_"After Walter left Wish House, he moved to Pleasant River, a town neighboring Silent Hill. For a while, he lived the life of a normal student, but he was still filled with bitterness and resentment towards the rest of the world."_

_ "When I see four things, I can't help but remember that time…"_

The Ultimate Truth. We would find it. We had to find it.

And it had to have the answers we were searching for.

_"Several years later, he launched his plan. The 21 murders…"_

_ Eileen screamed in agony as blood ran from the gashes that had been carved into her back. She sobbed and tried to move, trying to escape from him. He wasn't done yet. He was going to kill her. _

"No!" I screamed at the vision. "You can't have her! I won't let you hurt her! NO!"

xXx

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Eileen. _20/21 _was carved into her back, almost obscured by the mass of bruises that made me feel ill. I drew in a shaky breath, and then she looked normal and uninjured again.

She turned around. "You're back!"

"Yes," I said faintly. I gritted my teeth and banished the lingering images of her being attacked. "I…" I looked from side to side. "Where…are we?"

"Isn't this your Building World?" she asked, frowning.

I wasn't entirely sure where we were, but it was definitely not Building World. We were standing at the edge of an alley between two tall buildings, but that was where the similarities ended. What stretched out before me was not the twisted abomination that I had visited previously, but something that looked like an actual city. I could see the building that was visible from my apartment window, but there was no sign of South Ashfield Heights itself. Some buildings seemed out of place, and they tickled at the back of my memory, prompting Silent Hill to come to mind. Others seemed blurred and washed out, like they had never been a part of the real world at all.

"I don't know what this is," I whispered, stunned.

She stepped past me and looked out at the cityscape for a moment before turning to face me. "Well, there's nothing we can do now but keep going forward."

"You're right," I agreed. "Which way should we go first?"

She paused and closed her eyes. Then she pointed down the street to the right.

I nodded and followed her in that direction wordlessly. I didn't have the nerve to ask if that was a random choice, intuition, or a sign that she was being taken over. I studied the back of her head and wondered what that really meant. Could the murderer get such a hold over her that he could make her attack me? If she tried to kill me, I wasn't sure what I would do.

Fog drifted through the streets, lingering around certain houses and not others. The grass and flowers in the yards we passed were faded and drooping. When I looked up, I could see a starry sky, but a haze hung in front of it. Many of the buildings we passed had a blurred, smooth look to them, as if they were giant paintings of houses. If I tried to go inside one, I was sure I would not even be able to open the door. Other buildings looked like they had been built by an insane architect looking at his blueprints randomly for each section. Brick walls merged with curving cement, a wooden fence linked black stone with an expanse of blue siding.

It was not, as I had originally thought, a proper mimicry of a city layout. These buildings interlocked perfectly, blocking off alternate routes that should have been possible. We would have to follow this road to its end or turn around. I felt like I was being herded again.

"I don't like this," Eileen said, biting her lip. She turned around to face me. "Maybe we should have gone in the other direction?"

"Do you think it would have been any better?"

"No," she admitted. She wrapped her arms around herself. "I feel like I'm being watched. At times, I can almost see them—his eyes… those terrible eyes…"

I shivered and looked around. "There's no one here but us."

She raised her eyebrows. "Does that matter, in a place like this?" She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. "He can find us no matter where we go, can't he?"

Without fully understanding my own actions, I approached her and put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She felt small and fragile against me, and my other hand clenched into a fist. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Eileen."

For a moment, she remained huddled against me, and then she lifted her face to look into my eyes. A faint, sad smile appeared on her face, but she didn't say anything. She stepped away and looked down the road. A turn was up ahead, obscuring whatever might lie in our path. After a moment, she began to walk.

Noticing the absence of her body beside mine more keenly than I had expected, I followed slowly. I meant what I had said. Even if I hadn't been able to protect any of the other victims, I would die before I let harm come to her.

Bloody gashes dripped blood down her back and she trembled under dark bruises that covered her body. Then the vision passed and I swallowed hard. What did it mean? These brief flashes of gruesome imagery were not like the other hallucinations I had suffered. They were so quick, and they weren't preceded by pain.

Then again, my headache was almost constant now. I wasn't sure I would notice if it had spiked for a moment.

_I saw you like that once, but something changed it. I will not let these visions become reality. You will remain untouched._

The air was cold, and I tugged my coat a little tighter around me. George and I had been able to alter the Otherworld just a tiny bit when we had been trying to escape the ghosts. If I focused my will strongly enough, maybe I could cast my promise across her like prophecy and force the Otherworld itself to protect her. No one would be able to harm her. The ice would only shield her. The ghosts would never approach her.

I gritted my teeth and concentrated on that idea as hard as I could. Eileen would be protected. Nothing could harm her. _Nothing!_

So intent was I on my wild scheme that I bumped into her when she stopped walking. I stepped back and looked up in confusion. Then I saw that we had reached another crossroads, with three paths branching deeper into the conglomeration of buildings.

"Which way should we go this time?" she asked.

I blinked and looked at each of them in turn. They all looked the same to me. The dark road disappeared past lines of unnatural and faded buildings. "I don't know." _She's being taken over… _I hesitated. "Eileen… There are times when you've shown signs of…a special connection with this place…" My mouth was dry, but I forced myself to continue. "Is there any way you can…_sense_…where we should be going?"

She frowned at me. "Now you sound like Joseph."

That didn't make me feel any better.

"I'll give it a try, though," she sighed, closing her eyes.

I watched her, studying her face. She was so beautiful… A mottled bruise appeared on her cheek and vanished as quickly as it had come. I clenched my fists. No, it would not happen that way. She would be safe.

"Wait…" She gasped. "I feel something…"

"What is it?"

She shook her head slowly. "I don't know… It's not where we have to go… What we have to do, maybe? Go down…down to the deepest part of him… The Crimson Tome… That little boy…that poor little boy…" She began to tremble, eyes still closed. "Daddy?" A hysterical sob escaped her as she cried, "Where are you? Where did you go?! Mommy?!"

Horrified, I darted forward and grabbed her shoulders. I shook her, trying to snap her out of it. "Eileen!" _She's being taken over… She's Number 20… The Mother Reborn…_ "No! Eileen!"

Her eyes snapped open and she stared into my face with blazing green eyes. "No!" She shoved me away from her.

I tumbled backwards onto the street. Eileen's head snapped from side to side as if she was about to bolt, and I had a sudden image of her wandering lost through the Otherworlds, only partially herself. Before she could take more than a step, I leaped to my feet and caught her wrists.

"No, let me go!" she wailed, trying to pull free.

Stronger than her, I held her fast as she struggled. "Eileen, stop it!" As soon as I said it, I wondered if I should even be addressing her as Eileen, or if someone else was looking through her eyes. I tightened my grip. "Tell me what's going on!"

Her eyes widened, and she stopped fighting me. Staring up into my face, she repeated, "W-what's going on…?"

"Yes," I said, trying to sound as calm as I could. "Tell me."

"I'm scared!" she cried instead. She hung her head and made a whimpering sound.

I cautiously released her wrists and slid my hands up to her shoulders. "Eileen, it's all right. There's no reason to be scared. Tell me why you're scared."

She looked up at me again. "T-tell you?"

"Yes. Whatever it is, it's going to be all right."

She took several deep, gulping breaths and nodded. "W-well, I know what we have to do… We have to—to keep going… We have to find the…the answer… _You_ do," she amended, shaking her head. "I'm not…necessary."

"Of course you're necessary!" I exclaimed, stepping a little closer to her. "I need you. I can't do this without you."

"I won't survive," she whispered.

My blood ran cold. "Eileen…is that what frightened you? Did you have some sort of vision of your death?" I lifted my hand and touched the side of her face. "Don't be afraid of that. I won't let it happen."

Her eyes were wider than I had ever seen them. "I…"

A clear, low note rang out through the air, distracting both of us. Our heads snapped in the direction the sound had come from. To our left, across rows of buildings, a white steeple stretched up towards the sky. A black iron bell was just visible at its top, and it rang again as I stared at it.

"It's a church!" Eileen exclaimed.

"Whose, I wonder?" I muttered, thinking about the Order.

"We can't pretend they don't exist," she said quietly. "They're at the center of this."

"Then that's where we should go," I decided.

"What?"

"We need to find answers, right? Well, chances are those answers have something to do with the cult."

"I don't have a better idea," she admitted.

I looked into her eyes. "Are you all right?"

Eileen lifted a hand to her forehead. "Yes… I feel strange, but I'm not afraid anymore. I can't even remember now what it was that disturbed me. Did I tell you anything?"

_You will not die. No matter why you told me that, it won't happen._ I forced a smile. "No. It was probably nothing."

She smiled and rested her head against my shoulder. "I shouldn't be afraid at all, with you here."

Blushing, I cleared my throat hastily. "Let's head for that church, then."

We walked together down the road, and I tried to reconcile the conflicting emotions inside of me. My need to protect Eileen was stronger than it had ever been before, but the kernel of fear that had been planted at my realization that she could become possessed was threatening to explode and overwhelm me. I could protect her from anything, but perhaps not from herself.

_Nothing will harm her,_ I vowed again.

Just a step behind her, I studied her as we walked. She was so alive and vibrant, more vivid than anything else around us. If we ever were split up again, I would not escape without her. The world would not seem real if she was not in it. The world needed her…as did I.

_If I lose you, Eileen, I think I will die._

What was this feeling? Was it love?

_You will not separate me from her again!_ I threatened the Otherworld. If the ice came, it would not touch her. No force would make her disappear. No one would distract me from her. I fixed these thoughts in my mind and attempted to impose them upon the Otherworld. Even if there was no chance of this working, I would try—and I would make it work.

A tremor ran through the world, and I briefly imagined that it was my influence overriding the current rules. Then I panicked, fearing it was the ice. My breath caught, and I looked around for the signs, but there was no trace of blue. Everything looked just as it had before…although something seemed off about it. I walked more slowly, trying to figure out what was bothering me. It was as if everything had subtly changed, just a detail here or there.

Movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I turned quickly to see. At first I didn't notice anything at all, until I finally noticed the tiny patch of rusty red creeping through a stone wall. I looked around, my mouth going dry. Yes, there were more places were just a trace of red was visible, as if this strange world had begun to bleed. Unless it was just my imagination, everything was started to look a little rundown, too. I remembered the destruction of the Water Prison and had a brief vision of the city crumbling around us.

I blinked, feeling a little dizzy. Sometimes it was hard to see the red spots. They were like my hallucinations of Eileen—sometimes there and sometimes not. I snuck a quick glance at her and saw the dark pools of blood beneath the surface of her skin again, for just a fleeting moment before they were gone.

My head hurt. If only I could find a safe place, just for a moment, I could think about things clearly. Then everything would be all right again. I just needed to focus…and sort out what was real and what wasn't.

_What is reality?_ I begged myself. _Please, remember what is true!_

"Oh!" Eileen exclaimed, jolting me from my thoughts.

We had reached another turn in the road, and on the corner was a house. Its colors were faded and it looked somehow skewed, as if I was squinting at it from the corner of my eye even when I stared directly at it. In contrast, the yard was a crisp, vibrant green, and the blood stood out brilliantly against it. Two corpses lay there, the tiny bodies of children, a boy and a girl. One was in pieces. I stared at the body parts, lying grotesquely in front of the house, and my head pulsed with a sudden increase in pain.

_I could see the two children, playing together. They looked so happy…_

"No, no, no!" I shouted, gripping my head and forcing the hallucination away.

To my amazement, it worked, but I was left with a dull buzzing in my ears. The world seemed to be wavering around me. Even Eileen didn't look quite solid. I could sense a shadow moving through the streets. It was one of the cultists, or perhaps Valtiel himself, or even Death incarnated. I could feel its presence as it came closer and closer, though I could not see it. It was there, somewhere, stalking us like a kinsman of the ghosts.

Without pausing to explain, I tore myself away from the broken bodies and grabbed Eileen's arm. Pulling her with me, I ran in the direction of the church.

"What's going on?" she asked, when I had pulled her through an open door and slammed it shut behind us.

"There was something out there," I whispered. I pressed my ear against the wood and listened for any signs of pursuit. All was silent.

"What is _this_?" she breathed from behind me.

I turned around, wondering what she was talking about. Then I gasped. I hadn't taken a look at the building when I dove inside. The white hallway we were in still had a dingy appearance, as well as being overgrown with tangled weeds and strange vines. Beyond the hall, however, it widened into an open area covered in a carpet of lush green grass. A white fence surrounded it, with a gate at the other end carved into delicate shapes. Flowers sprang up in clusters, shining in shades of blue, red, and violet. A gentle glow suffused everything, as if it was being lit from within.

It was beautiful. Everything was still and serene.

"It's like it was ripped straight from a fairy-tale," Eileen murmured, stepping onto the grass and looking around with an expression that had a touch of sadness to it.

I joined her. "It almost makes you forget where we are, doesn't it?"

She looked at me for a moment and then shook her head. "No. I can't forget."

Enjoying the peace that had filled me at the lovely sight and wishing she could share it, I walked over to one of the flowerbeds and picked a flower. The petals were blue on the edges, gradually darkening to a deep purple at the center. I held it out to Eileen.

She took the flower. "Thank you." She looked down at it wistfully.

"You look so unhappy," I said, feeling helpless.

"Look at this place," she said softly. "We know where these Otherworlds come from. This is the only thing I've seen that's happy…and I don't think it's even real." She held the flower up and shook her head. "It's a fairy-tale dream of happiness from someone who knew only sorrow…"

When I thought of it that way, the garden no longer looked perfect. It looked ephemeral and insubstantial. I imagined that a cold breeze could blow it away, leaving no trace except perhaps a faded memory.

"I don't want to stay here," Eileen whispered.

I reached out and took her hand. She looked at me in surprise and then smiled. We walked together across the grass until we reached the gate at the end. It opened without a sound, and we stepped through into an even larger room. I stared around in wonder at a floor polished to the point where it shone, marble walls and pillars rising high above our heads to meet a domed ceiling, and golden chandeliers bathing the room in candlelight.

When I looked closely, I saw that it had the same ethereal quality as the garden.

"It's a ballroom," Eileen said.

I gave her a blank look. "What?"

She laughed. "You know, for dancing? Formal parties? I think this one came from a fairy-tale, too." She stepped away from me and spun around in a circle. "Just imagine if we were different people, coming to this room under different circumstances. This would be wonderful if it were not in the Otherworld."

I caught her hand and acted on impulse, raising her hand to my lips and kissing it. "May I have this dance?"

Eileen stared at me in shock and then laughed. "Do you promise to dance me out of the Otherworld?"

"I promise."

I took Eileen into my arms and realized that I did not know how to dance. Still, she did not issue a word of complaint as I spun and tripped us across the room, towards the distant door. Her body felt so light and warm. She was right. It would have been wonderful.

When we reached the other side of the ballroom, I took one hand away from her to open the door. To my dismay, I saw the bleak streets we had come from, and the church was far too near. I stopped on the threshold and stared out, not wanting to leave the ballroom or to let go of Eileen.

"Well, it was nice while it lasted," she said quietly, resting her head against my shoulder.

I looked at her. "Yes. It was." I brought my hand slowly to her face, to stroke her cheek, and then I tilted her chin up and kissed her before I could change my mind. My confusing sensations of devotion and need sparked higher as our lips touched, and something deep inside of me cried out—in loneliness? Desire? Fear? It seemed like all of these things, and more.

Eileen pulled away after a moment, looking stunned. "I… but…you and Cynthia…"

An image of Cynthia's laughing face came into my mind, and to my surprise, it brought with it a surge of anger. "Why should I be faithful to Cynthia when she never was to me? Cynthia never loved me! She—"

"Are you remembering something?"

My certainty disappeared, and I was left grasping at the trace feelings that remained, trying to find the memories that had prompted me to say those things. I shook my head helplessly.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." I stared down into her eyes and reminded myself that we had to keep going. If I was to save Eileen's life, I would have to find the truth and get her out of the Otherworlds as quickly as possible. Every moment she remained here, she was in danger. As nice as the brief interlude of peace had been, it couldn't last. It was time for us to keep going.

After one more kiss.


	19. Chapter 19: The Beginning of the End

"_The knowledge that you seek is deep inside you.  
__The knowledge that you seek just may reveal  
__The knowledge that you seek just may reveal  
__That things are not what they may seem."  
_-Demons & Wizards, "Spatial Architects"

Chapter 19: The Beginning of the End

From the outside, the church looked ominous. The white walls were not clean, having a tinge to them that darkened them once we were just a few feet away. At first I thought it was the same grimy, rundown look that pervaded most of the Otherworlds, but a closer look convinced me that this was something different. It wasn't dirt, or mildew, or anything else natural, but a strange, shadowy darkness that oozed out of the building. The stained-glass windows should have lightened the effect, but their indefinable shapes and overuse of red only seemed sinister.

It also was huge. It towered above everything else in the area, and the steeple was so high up that I couldn't see it even when I craned my neck. The shadow cast over us seemed to blot out what little light the night sky had provided, and I felt a bit like we had stumbled into a land built for giants.

"Just what we need," I muttered under my breath.

"What?" Eileen asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing." I took a step forward, towards the massive doors.

"Are you sure we should do this?"

I turned and saw Eileen rubbing her arms, giving the church a wary look. "I thought we agreed that this was where we would find answers."

"I know…" She shivered and moved close to me. "It just…looks so dangerous… We could just walk past it, though. Maybe we shouldn't be looking for answers here, but trying to find a way to get deeper into the Otherworld instead."

"What if we can never escape without those answers?" I asked. "If you're right about my amnesia hiding the secret needing to help us, then I don't think we can afford to overlook any possibilities."

"All right." She hesitated, then put her hands on my shoulders, turning me until I was looking straight into her eyes. "Just remember that we have to keep going. Whatever happens, we have to see this through to the end. Promise me."

"You told me that once before."

"Going into a place like this, I just think it might be extremely important that you remember it." She released me and wrapped her arms around herself again, looking up at the blood-red windows of the church.

"If it's that important to you…then I promise."

The relief on her face only took away some of her visible fear.

Troubled, I slowly ascended the steps and then paused, turning back to make sure that Eileen was coming with me. If she refused to enter the church, I would stay with her. Nothing was worth being separated from her and risking losing her for real this time. The nightmare images of her being attacked hovered before my eyes for just a moment, until she had reached my side.

Then I turned and studied the doors. They were so large that I had to stretch my arm as far as I could reach to grab the doorknob. The cold metal sent an icy chill through me as I twisted it. The door creaked open, and I reached out to take Eileen's hand. We slipped inside together, through a small vestibule into the open body of the church.

It was dark. Flickering candles on every windowsill cast halos of crimson light on the walls. Candelabras sat in alcoves along the wall, creating shadows that twitched and crept their way around the room. The pews looked like they were made of iron, and the altar was shrouded in darkness so deep that I could almost imagine there was nothing there but a void to nowhere. When I looked up to the ceiling, I saw dark beams and recesses darker than the night sky. Light from above just barely illuminated the outline of the distant bell, and shapes fluttered in front of it. They could have been bats, or they could have been something worse.

Then a harsh, cold voice rang out, echoing from every corner of the church.

"The First Sign. And God said, 'At the time of fullness, cleanse the world with my rage. Gather forth the White Oil, the Black Cup, and the Blood of the Ten Sinners."

As the Descent of the Holy Mother continued to boom around us, I clapped my hands over my ears and tried to see where it was coming from. There had to be someone up at the pulpit, but even when I squinted, I couldn't see a thing. I took a tentative step forward, but Eileen caught my arm.

I looked at her. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth moved, but I couldn't hear her even when I lowered my hands. The scripture was so loud, nothing else could be heard. It was sending vibrations through the church. Wood creaked and the bell cast out eerie, strangely sibilant sounds. My body trembled from the force of the words, and I felt like the voice might consume me, just as fire consumes everything it touches.

"'Be then released from the bonds of the flesh, and gain the Power of Heaven."

Eileen stopped trying to speak and instead pointed towards the door. She pulled me in that direction even as I looked back towards the altar again, trying to find the speaker. The voice…it was so familiar. I knew that voice…

I hesitated, and her grip tightened on my arm. When I looked at her, her gaze was pleading. _She held up her hands, begging for mercy. "Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?"_ The snapshot of the attack faded as quickly as it had come, but I was left looking down into Eileen's terrified face. Heart pounding I pulled her close to me as the terrible words resounded around us. It had been a mistake to come here. She was right, we had to leave this place.

Taking her hand in mine, I nodded towards the large door we had entered through. We ran towards it, fleeing the terrible church and all it symbolized. The doors slammed shut just as we reached them.

The voice stopped as the _crash_ thundered throughout the building, accompanied by Eileen's shriek of alarm. For a few seconds we were left alone in silence as I leaped towards the doors and tried futilely to get them to open. They were as immovable as the door to Room 302.

"The Last Sign…" The loud sound of a single footstep came echoing to us across the church, and then the voice got softer as quieter footsteps took the speaker further from the pulpit—softer, but just as clear. "And God said, 'Separate from the flesh too, she who is the Mother Reborn and he who is the Receiver of Wisdom.'"

I whirled around just in time to see George Rosten step down from the altar. He advanced towards us, eyes glittering with some indefinable passion. Instead of his normal clothes, he wore crimson robes that billowed with every step. He folded his hands and approached us with a smile slowly forming on his face.

"George?" I whispered, taking a step closer to Eileen.

"It's good to see you again."

"What are you doing?" I asked. "Why are you dressed like that?"

He spread his arms. "Well, we've established who I am, so why should I pretend to be anything else?" He grinned. "There's no reason for _me_ to be ashamed of the Order, now is there?"

"Of course there is!" Eileen snapped. "The Order is evil and vile!"

"Oh, you're here too," he muttered.

"I am," she said, folding her arms, "and I'm not leaving."

He stared at her for a moment with such intensity that I felt myself bristling with anger, but then he let out a laugh and looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Well, there seems to be quite a bit of…_devotion_ there, I see…"

"Does that surprise you?" I asked.

"If I'm honest, a little bit, yes."

_Why?_ The temptation to beg him to tell me everything he knew about my past was so strong that I clenched my fists at my side, digging my fingernails into my palms. "Then perhaps it will also surprise you to know that I'm equally devoted to her."

Eileen smiled, color rising in her cheeks.

George's eyebrows climbed even higher. "Now _that's_ surprising…"

"Why?" I blurted, unable to hold myself back this time.

He paced back and forth in the aisle, shaking his head slowly. "I just don't understand you. You heard what I was reading when you entered. You understand the 21 Sacraments ritual better than most. And you're convinced that it's happening now, and that this woman is the Mother Reborn." He gave her a sharp look and she shrunk back, but he did nothing but continue his pacing. "You claim devotion to her…even love…yet the Mother Reborn is doomed to die at the hand of the Conjurer." He stopped walking and met my gaze with a soft, bewildered expression. "_Why?_ Why do you cling to a delusion that tells you the woman you love will die?"

"It's not a delusion!" I snapped, but something inside of me cringed with fear that he was right. These headaches… the hallucinations… all the questions these worlds created… Many times, I had considered the possibility that I was insane. If he was right all along, we were in no danger… _No, no! It's not just me, because Eileen can see the Otherworlds!_

"I wonder," he breathed, stepping close to us and staring at Eileen, "what will happen when your delusion decides her death has arrived? Will you watch her die, while she stands unharmed?"

I looked at her, not wanting to think about such things but unable to prevent myself. She was staring right back at George, her eyes wide and horrified. The black bruises gave her face a morbid beauty, and they covered all of her visible skin. They wriggled with supernatural power, and the gashes on her back were distinct and clear. I recoiled, and the vision faded.

"Her words will never reach you, or if they do, you'll think they're your imagination…when really, it is your imagination that shows you her broken, bloody body… Her death will haunt you as you wander your desolate fantasyland… And what if she does get through to you, or what if your poor, delusion-addled mind cannot handle her death? Will you dream up a ghost to haunt you?" He let out a harsh laugh. "A terrifying ghoul to torment you with thoughts of the love you couldn't save, when all of it is false?"

I shuddered and gripped my head. That would never happen. I would protect her from everything! _But what if there really is no danger? Can you protect her from your own mind?_ That was impossible. She could see the Otherworlds. They were real, and I would protect her. Nothing George said made any sense. The future he described could never come to be.

But if it did…it would be terrible… How would I know if he was right or wrong? I let out a groan. This headache… If only it would go away so I could think clearly. Yes, if I could just clear my mind, I could figure out what was happening… I squeezed my eyes shut. Why was it so difficult to think?

"And what of your own death? What will happen when you decide the murderer has caught you? Will you create your own death and then fall into a stasis? Or will you haunt your so-called 'Otherworlds' as a ghost, preying upon illusory victims and suffering from imagined guilt and bloodlust?"

"Stop it!" Eileen cried, her voice cutting through his words and snapping me out of my daze.

I opened my eyes. She was glaring at George, breathing heavily. His face had gone completely still and expressionless as he regarded her.

"Do you want him to be trapped in his insanity?" he asked, sounding incredulous.

"You're the one who wants him to be trapped," she hissed. "This is _not_ the real world. You're either mad, or…or…"

"Or what?" he demanded, eyes glinting.

"Evil!"

He started to laugh. "Evil, am I? If that's the way you want to see it." He turned to me with a smile. "You've changed so much. I only want to help you. I wish you were the man I once knew…but I realize that I cannot expect you to believe me based on faith alone." He closed his eyes and folded his hands in front of him, as if in prayer. "So, I am prepared to show you definitive proof that this is the real world."

"Proof?" I asked, startled.

Eileen put her hand on my shoulder. "Any 'proof' of his would be a lie. Let's just get out of here."

I hesitated.

"Oh, by all means, go." George opened his eyes and gave a short bow in our direction. "The door is open again; it will not bar your way. Venture forth into the Otherworld and take your chances with your delusions."

_Proof…_ It was so tempting to think that all of this was in my mind. I could get help and not have to worry about being murdered by a madman or chased by a horde of specters.

_Just remember that we have to keep going. Whatever happens, we have to see this through to the end. Promise me._

I steeled my nerve. I didn't like it, but I had promised Eileen. "Good-bye, George." I turned towards the doors and was treated to a radiant smile from Eileen. That strengthened me, and I took a step.

"It wouldn't take long, you know," George commented.

I froze.

His voice was casual, almost languid. "The main doors of this church happen to look out onto the most deserted, desolate side of the city, a place so rundown—well, I suppose anyone could mistake it for some supernatural land of horrors. There is another door, however, at the other end. All it would take is a look."

"Don't listen to him," Eileen urged. She reached out for my hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Trust me."

I tightened my hand around hers and moved towards the door.

"Ah, the crowds of people," George sighed. "Hustling and bustling, some whistling or humming…the chatter of happy people with happy lives… Oh, there is sadness in the world, but when you look out and see all of the joy and beauty, it shows you how wonderful life really is. Just a glimpse out the door can show you all this… Is time really so short that you can't spare a second to look outside?"

Feeling like my legs were made of lead, I turned around. Ignoring Eileen's cry of dismay, I asked, "Where is this door?"

He pointed in the direction of the altar. "Just past there. There's a little room—a sacristy, if you will—just off to the left. A quick trip in, and I'll open the door for you to see outside."

I squinted, trying to see this room he was talking about.

"No!" Eileen cried. "Please, trust me, we have to get out of here!"

I turned to her, wishing George wasn't watching us with such curiosity. "Eileen, what harm could it do just to look?"

"I don't know," she said. Her voice quavered. "But I know something bad will happen. And…and I won't go into that room to find out what it is!"

That decided it. I had vowed to protect her and to never let myself be separated from her again. If she wouldn't go to the room with George, then I wouldn't either. I would have to trust her and continue on.

"I'm sorry, George," I said, taking a deep breath. "We're leaving."

"Do you always let her do your thinking for you?" he demanded with a sneer. "Can't you make decisions on your own?"

I glared at him. "You have no idea what I've been through."

He shook his head and looked at Eileen. "And you. How can you hate him this much?"

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

He laughed. "You know what I'm talking about!"

"We have to keep going," she said. She balled her hands into fists and took a step towards him. "If you really consider him a friend, you would understand that."

"Why can't you let him be happy?"

"Happy?" she cried. "I know what you're up to! If he goes with you, he'll never learn the truth, not ever!"

"The truth?" He spread out his arms. "Is it worth it, if you find a truth that will destroy him?"

"Yes! It's better than to know nothing at all, or to believe a lie!"

He laughed. "So that's it. You believe I would save him through a lie, while you would destroy him through the truth!"

"You're twisting my words," she whispered. "I don't want to destroy him! I just want—"

"You don't even know what the 'truth' is, yet you speak so highly of it!" he sneered, stalking towards her. "You're just a foolish child, Miss Galvin! Now I at last understand how you became the Mother Reborn. Sacrifices are always necessary to reach peace…"

She flinched backwards. "What are you talking about?"

"I can't let you stop me any longer." He turned towards me, a strange light shining behind his eyes. "If you follow her—if you give up even _this_ chance of escape—you may confine yourself to this abyss of fear and despair forever." He moved closer, clutching my shoulders suddenly. "Listen to me. I _know_ you. You're a good man. A hero, remember? Once you come with me, everything will be all right again… Can't you believe that?"

I stared at him wordlessly, not knowing what to say. I wished they would both stop arguing and just give me a few moments of silence to think and try to sort things out. It felt like someone was inside my skull, trying to split it open with a pickaxe.

"No!" Eileen shouted. She pushed her way in between us and stared at me with wide eyes. "I know the truth! I remember now, I remember everything!"

"You remember what?" I gasped, hope rising inside of me.

"She remembers nothing!" George snarled, grabbing her arms as he tried to shove her away from me.

I stiffened at the sight of him touching her, anger and fury rising up inside of me. If he hurt Eileen…

"He's lying!" she screamed, grappling with him as she tried to escape his grip. "Walter Sulli—_ack!_"

George grabbed her by the throat, squeezing her into silence as his other hand dug into her arm and forced her backwards.

Something inside of me exploded. I leaped bodily onto George, ripping him away from her. She fell to the floor beside us as I punched him in the face as hard as I could. He staggered, and I grabbed him by the shoulders, bringing his face close to mine. "You bastard," I hissed, heart pounding. "Did you really think you could hurt Eileen and get away with it?"

His eyes widened. "Now wait a minute, let's talk this over like calm, rational—"

I had no intention of being calm _or_ rational. I punched him again before he could finish his sentence. The vision I had had of Eileen's attack returned to me, and the image of the murderer striking her merged with my memory of George choking her. I hit him a third time, and a fourth, until he collapsed. I was trembling. I advanced towards him, not really knowing what I intended to do.

Gasping for breath, he looked up at me and lifted his hands. "Just calm down for a minute! I wasn't going to hurt her!"

"You spoke of sacrifice," I said, my voice becoming as cold as I felt inside. "You were going to strangle her."

"No, no!"

"You would have done whatever it took to make sure I never listened to her again."

"No, that's not true!"

"Yes it is," I growled, kneeling beside him and peering into his face. "I can see it in your eyes!" I grabbed his shoulders and then wrapped my hands around his neck. "You were going to murder her!"

"_Henry_, we're _friends_!" he cried.

"You're lying."

"I'm not!"

I tightened my grip. "You've never done anything but lie to me!"

He choked, unable to deny it any more. His face shone with pure terror.

I had a sword. I had a gun. But when I thought about the way he had touched Eileen, the only thought in my mind that could surface above the red haze of hatred was that he ought to die the way he had planned for her to. I pinned him to the floor, squeezing his throat tighter and tighter. I could feel his life draining away, but I felt no flicker of sympathy or regret—only the burning anger and the need to see him die. When he at last slumped lifelessly to the floor of the church, I stood up.

I stared down at George Rosten, feeling numb.

Eileen screamed.

I whirled around and saw that she had risen to her feet. "Eileen!" I cried, stepping towards her.

She shook her head and backed away, her horrified gaze darting between me and the body on the floor. She turned and ran, pulling open the massive doors and fleeing outside. I started to follow her, but then the ice came, sliding up from the floor to cover the church and the corpse behind me, painting all of the lurid colors with a calm, cold blue.

"Eileen!" I called, staring at the door. No, it wasn't supposed to happen that way. We weren't supposed to be separated. I was supposed to stay with her always. I had to go after her and find her again. I had to protect her.

But she had been so frightened. I felt weak and shaking when I thought back to the look on her face. So frightened…of me…

"Eileen, come back," I whispered, before crumpling to the floor.

xXx

When I regained consciousness, I lay there with my eyes closed for a few moments. The cold ice came just short of soothing my burning pain. I had killed George. Eileen had fled. I reminded myself that I had only been defending her, but I remembered the last time I had been in Building World and felt a twinge of guilt. Whatever else he had done, he had called himself my friend. Had it all been a lie? I supposed I would never know. There was nothing I could do now but get up, keep going, and try to find Eileen. With that in mind, I opened my eyes.

I was not alone.

Ghosts stood in a circle around me, looking down at me with their terrible eyes. They were silent and still, some pointing towards me and others just staring. A tremor ran through them as I sat up, and they leaned in closer. I felt fear rising up inside of me, and I barely dared to move. They seemed remarkably passive. I wondered when they had arrived. I didn't even know how long I had been unconscious.

Why weren't they attacking?

With a sudden howl, the ghost of Jimmy Stone dove towards me, and I scrambled to my feet as the others followed suit. Their hands clutched at me, running their nails across my clothing and skin as I tried to run.

I grabbed my sword and brandished it at them threateningly, forcing them to move out of my path. I darted through the opening I had created and ran towards the open doors of the church. With a sound that sounded like nothing more than a hysterical giggle, the ghosts pursued me.

The world outside was much changed, and despite my imminent peril, I stopped dead in my tracks. Black storm clouds rumbled above a ravaged landscape. The blurriest of the buildings had crumbled entirely to pieces under the force of the ice. The conglomerations were beginning to break apart into their separate segments, and even as I watched, a building collapsed inward on itself. The ground was cracking and shaking beneath the ice, and a massive chasm had formed in the road, blocking the path Eileen and I had followed to reach the church.

_Oh Eileen, please don't have gone that way,_ I begged silently, transfixed by the destruction around me.

"And so…it comes…"

The voice reminded me that the ghosts had been right on my tail, but I turned in shock—both that I had not been attacked while being distracted, and that one of them had said a complete sentence.

This was one of the ghosts I had seen in the mob before, but never so close. He was cast in strange shadows, but something about him struck me as familiar. His voice echoed, as if it was coming from far away. The rest of the seething mob of specters waited behind him, looking as though they would lunge at the slightest provocation.

The shadowy ghost bowed his bald head. "The beginning…of the end."

Then they rushed towards me, and I spun around. One route was still clear, and so I dashed in that direction. The road was filled with bumps, ice jutting up under my feet with every step. I stumbled and tripped, trying not to fall down. A crack formed just in front of me, and I leaped over it before it could widen. Ahead of me, the ground rippled and shook.

Every step made me feel as though I was going to fall. Rain had begun to fall, freezing in the cold air. The sharp specks hammered down on me, pelting every inch of exposed skin. I shielded my face, running forward despite the ice shards stinging my arms. Squinting so that I could see but still try to protect my eyes, I ran forward. Despite their strange actions, the ghosts sounded as murderous as ever, and I had no intention of stopping to see what they would do if they caught me.

I raced past a building that looked strangely like the Wish House beneath the ice, but the roof collapsed and the wood splintered into pieces before I could be sure of what I had seen. Ice jutted up in front of me, but I ran to the side and circumvented it. Running as fast as I could, I reached a fork in the road and chose one at random. Two steps took me to a patch of fog so thick that I could barely see. Chunks of stone rained down from nowhere and hit my feet, and I quickly turned around.

The ghosts shrieked like a single unholy monster and surged forward with increased speed. No force in the universe could have made me run into those grasping arms, so I climbed over the pile of rubble that separated the two paths. Then I raced down the other road, praying that I would find a way out of this.

Lightning flashed in the dark sky, and a vicious orange glow caught my eye. In the distance, something was burning. This world was falling to pieces.

Just a few feet ahead of me, the road turned. Right at the bend was a set of stairs leading underground. The entrance looked ominous and threatening, but I remembered that Eileen and I were trying to go _down to the deepest part_, and I charged towards it. The gray stone of the steps exploded with blood and then collapsed, sinking down into the earth. The iron railings on each side rusted before my eyes and then twisted, fragmented and falling into the forming pit.

By the time I reached it, there was nothing—just a hole leading down into darkness.

For a moment I considered jumping, but it looked too threatening and deadly. I turned and kept running instead, on the lookout for anything that didn't look like it was going to fall to pieces. I passed several buildings that struck me with guilt and nostalgia—the apartment-shop George and I had searched for a key stood off to my right, one wall completely destroyed and leaving it exposed to the outside. The rest was quickly falling apart. The sporting goods store where I had found my sword was across the street for just a second, until the shaking earth formed a crevasse in the ice that swallowed it whole. The trek to the pet shop had aggravated and infuriated me, but it hurt to see it in the distance, blood pouring down its walls and staining the entire thing red. And as I narrowly avoided pillars of ice springing up in my path, I saw the bar sitting right in the middle of my path.

It made absolutely no sense for a building to be sitting there. Nevertheless, as I ran towards it, I found a crazy part of my mind hoping that when I reached it, I would find out that this had all been a terrible nightmare. George would be sitting there, telling me about my fame as a hero and encouraging me to banish my delusions with a drink.

_But that's impossible. You know it is._

My feet had barely crossed the threshold when the bar room splintered and blew apart, scattering like ashes on the wind. Within seconds, there was no sign that it had ever existed.

I stopped in bewilderment for only a moment. Then a cold hand touched the back of my neck, and I burst into a sprint. Fortunately, there was a door ahead of me. If it disappeared, or led to nothing…no, I wouldn't let myself think that way. It would let me through.

_It will, it will!_

As the Otherworld tore itself apart around me, I reached the door. Twisting the doorknob, I burst through and slammed it shut behind me. The howling of the ghosts was cut off, and I prayed that meant they couldn't follow me. Taking a deep breath, I looked around at my surroundings.

It was the Room 302 of my nightmares.

My blood chilled at the sight of the rust-red walls. My now-familiar headache began pounding worse than usual. If this was real, then I was no longer safe anywhere. Even Room 302 had turned on me.

_No!_

"This is all…I can do…"

At the sound of the echoing voice, I scanned the room wildly for any sight of the shadowed ghost. I could see nothing, however.

"Search… Look…"

Again, I heard the familiar quality of the voice, and I thought about the ghost. My heart skipped a beat when recognition hit me. "Joseph?" I called, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Joseph, is that you?"

"Follow…the secrets…of this room…"

Now that I had thought it, I knew I was right. It _was_ Joseph. But that was impossible. He wasn't a ghost. I had seen him and spoken to him!

_Unless that wasn't the real Joseph…_

"Only then…can the end…be averted…"

I swallowed hard. He had told me to search the room. So, steeling myself for anything terrible that might happen, I began to do so.

Two books sat on the table in the living room. I opened the first one and saw that it was a picture book. The pictures, however, were blurred and obscured with dried blood. I shuddered and decided I would be content with reading the captions. Joseph couldn't have meant for me to scrape off the blood.

_There once was a baby and a mother who were connected by a magical cord.  
__But one day the cord was cut, and the mother went to sleep.  
__The baby had a father who cared for him very much.  
__The baby made lots of friends, and everyone was very nice to him.  
__The baby helped people and tried to turn the world into Paradise.  
__The baby was very happy._

The pictures continued beyond that, but none of them had captions. I flipped through, feeling completely confused as to what this book even meant, and then I noticed that one later caption was still visible, although it was faint and scratched.

_the one that he was trying to wake up was actually the Devil._

I closed the book, feeling lost and confused. "Joseph?" I called, hoping he would help me understand it.

There was no answer.

I turned to the other book instead. It had to be clearer than that one had been.

_She who is called the "Holy Mother" be not holy one whit.  
__The "Descent of the Holy Mother" is naught but the Descent of the Devil.  
T__hose that be called the "21 Sacraments" be not sacramental one whit.  
__The "21 Sacraments" be naught but the 21 Heresies.  
__The promises of the Teacher be naught but the lies of the Deceiver.  
__The whispers of the Lover be naught but the voices of Illusion.  
__The mantle of the Hero be naught but a shield from the Truth._

Feeling even more unsettled and confused, I finished searching the living room and the kitchen area, and then I checked the checked the other rooms. The laundry room and the bathroom were both bloody messes, devoid of anything that could help me. In the bedroom, however, a single red page was lying on the bed.

More confident in Joseph's intent to help me than I had been since meeting him—or the man who said he was Joseph—in the Apartment World, I hurried over and picked it up.

_I can't break down the wall.  
__August 3-Joseph_

I searched the rest of the room desperately, starting to feel scared. There was nothing else. Joseph had told me to search and discover this room's secrets, but nothing I had found made any sense.

I left the room, and then I glanced towards the wall at the end of the hallway. I had always wondered why the hall just continued on towards a dead end. There was something stuck in the wall, and I hurried to see, praying that this time it was finally something that could help me.

It was a pickaxe. I yanked it free and saw that the word _Hope_ was written along the handle. There was a crack in the wall, and I saw writing on either side. On one side was written _"The gate to Hell,"_ and on the other was, _"Why must I destroy this wall…?"_

As much as I wanted to follow the only thing that now seemed like an instruction, and destroy the wall, I was reluctant to open anything that Joseph had considered to be "The gate to Hell" until I absolutely had to. Keeping a firm grip on the pickaxe, I walked back to the living room to look around once more to make sure I hadn't missed anything.

The pain in my head suddenly spiked, becoming so intense that it drove me to my knees. I cried out, trying to move to get out of the room. The pain rose higher and higher, and just when it reached its extreme, a voice filled the room. Holding my head against the pain, I realized this was another hallucination.

_ "Mom…" It was the little boy whose voice I had heard before. He sounded happy."Mom, I'm home… I won't let anyone get in my way. I'm gonna stay with you forever…"_

_ A ghostly light shone forth from the television set, accompanied by a female voice. "And now, the news. Yesterday, in Ashfield and the woods near Silent Hill, the bodies of five apparent murder victims and a sixth severely wounded female were discovered. The woman was immediately rushed to St. Jerome's Hospital, but died a short time later of her injuries. She has been identified as a Miss Eileen Galvin of Ashfield. The last body discovered was found in Room 302 of the South Ashfield Heights apartments. It is believed to be that of its occupant, Henry Townshend. The body was reportedly disfigured beyond recognition, making identification impossible._

_ "Once again, we've got late-breaking news. Five unnamed police officers have been found dead, for reasons unknown, in the South Ashfield Heights apartments, along with its superintendent, Mr. Frank Sunderland. All other residents of South Ashfield Heights have been rushed to St. Jerome's Hospital, many complaining of severe chest pain. These strange incidents are similar to the ones which occurred in Silent Hill some years ago. More news to follow."_

When the pain faded, I stood up, feeling horrified and shaky. That had been a hallucination about the completion of the 21 Sacraments. It couldn't be a vision of the future…it just couldn't be.

Joseph had said I could avert the end, as long as I followed the secrets of the room.

"It won't happen that way!" I shouted at Room 302, hefting the pickaxe and glaring around wildly. "I won't let it happen that way!"

Then I marched towards the wall at the end of the hallway and swung the pickaxe with all my strength.

The wall crumbled beneath my blow, plaster and dust flying through the air to reveal that it was only a thin sheet blocking off a dark room at the end of the hall. I dropped the pickaxe and lifted my arm to shield my eyes from the debris, and then I peered through the settling dust to try to see what was inside.

A dark shape sat in the center of the room. It was hard to make out what it was.

I took a few tentative steps inside, coughing as more dust flew up. It was cold. This room must have been used for storage before it had been sealed off. A gentle glow came from the corner, and when I looked, I saw to my bewilderment something that looked almost like a refrigerator, still running despite the lack of electricity. It was filled with bags…bags filled with something that looked suspiciously like blood.

On the table beside it sat a strange, obsidian goblet filled with some sort of white liquid. A book lay there as well, a copy of the Order's scriptures. Shelves around the room held mundane objects, covered with so much dust that they were all but unrecognizable. And the dark shape in the center of the room…

My gaze traveled up along it, and even when I recognized the object, I stared at it in confusion. It was a cross.

_Is this for me?_ I wondered. _Does the murderer intend to crucify me?_

I took a step towards it, almost unwillingly. My head was pounding. I glanced at the other items in the room again. A black cup. The white oil. The blood of the ten sinners. These were the items spoken of in the ritual of the Holy Assumption.

This was it. I felt a peculiar mix of horror and relief. This was what tied the Otherworlds together. Room 302 was at the center, a web of Otherworlds cast out when the Holy Assumption was performed in this very room. I had been trying to get to the deepest point, not knowing that it was just feet away from me the entire time. The room had been sealed off, so that no one would ever know.

The answers must be there.

I took another step forward and reached towards the cross, head hurting terribly, but then it froze over. Frosty ice spread outward from the wood, striking the walls in beams and creating a web of ice to block me from proceeding any further into the secret room.

With a groan, I put my face in my hands. Why did this keep happening to me? I considered many things I could try, most of which revolved around me pummeling the ice into dust. Surely it couldn't stand up to my pickaxe.

I picked it up again and swung at the ice with all my strength. It rebounded, sending painful jolts through my arms and causing me to lose my grip on the handle. As the pickaxe dropped to the floor, I rubbed my arms and glared at the ice. That clearly wasn't going to work. I would have to find another way through.

"The ice is not there," I said firmly, concentrating on the thought as hard as I could. If this method could unlock a door… "It's not there. It's melting. It's disappearing. It's opening up to let me through. I'm going to get through." It might have just been my imagination, but I thought I saw the ice waver, almost imperceptibly. "The ice is not there. It's not there not there not there not there _not there not—_"

"Henry?"

I jumped at the sound of the voice and turned around.

Cynthia stood in the entrance to the hall. "Is something wrong?"

"What are you doing here?" I gasped. No one had ever made it into Room 302 with me before. I couldn't help but wonder if she would even comment on the bloody walls or the inexplicable web of ice behind me.

She giggled and shrugged. "Do I need a reason to come to your apartment?"

I gaped at her for a moment, trying to make sense of everything that was happening to me. How could I tell her about my feelings for Eileen? How could I tell her that whatever we had shared, it was gone with my memories? My shoulders slumped, and I stared at her desperately, hoping for a trace of anything I felt for her to surface again. Once, I had felt I could almost remember her…now it was like I was looking at a stranger.

"Something _is_ wrong," she said, walking towards me. Her hips swayed with each step. She didn't say a word about the state of the room, just regarded me in silence until she was less than an inch away. Then she lifted her hand to my face, frowning as though trying to read something in my eyes.

At her touch, I flinched away. Turning so that she couldn't see my face, I stared at the grim message carved into the wall and wondered what I should do.

"What is it?" She put her hands on my shoulders. "Tell me."

I hung my head, feeling despair settling upon me. "Cynthia, I…" I turned around to face her, staring into her smiling face and bracing myself. "I still don't remember you. Not really."

"Is that all?" She giggled and stepped closer to me. "Then let me help you remember."

I tried to move away, but in the narrow space, all I could do was press my back against the wall. "No, there's more to it than that."

"It can't be that important." She put her hands on the wall and leaned towards me until she was so close that I found myself holding my breath. "You seem tense."

"Tense," I repeated, letting out a hysterical laugh. "I just need a little space to breathe…

Cynthia smirked and pressed herself against me. "Then breathe, breathe all you want!"

My face was heating up, and I cleared my throat to try to regain my composure.

"What are you afraid of?" she whispered, bringing her hands to the side of my face. She kissed me warmly and then looked into my eyes. "Well?"

For a moment, I couldn't speak, but then I forced the words out, afraid she would start kissing me again otherwise. "Cynthia, I'm in love with Eileen!"

She stepped away from me, eyes blazing. "Eileen Galvin?" she spat.

"Yes," I said, swallowing hard. Now I almost regretted saying it.

"Why her, of all people?" Cynthia put her face in her hands for a moment before looking up with a pained expression. "Eileen Galvin will _destroy_ you!"

_Don't lie to me!_ The words froze in my throat. I did not believe her. Eileen would never do anything to harm me. She was my friend, my ally—perhaps the only person in these Otherworlds I really could trust. I could not believe that Cynthia was telling the truth. Yet it was the exact she thing that George had said, just before I—before he died.

But no, it wasn't exactly the same. George had said she would destroy me with the truth. The _truth_ would destroy me.

"Tell me, Cynthia," I whispered. I darted forward and grabbed her shoulders. "Please, _tell_ me what's going on here! Why will Eileen destroy me? How? What is it you think she's going to do?"

"You won't believe me. You've been enchanted by her; you'll only think I'm lying!"

"No!" I let go of her and turned away, putting my head in my hands. "No, please…please tell me…"

"If you follow Eileen Galvin…if you cling to her and listen to her words…you will never find peace. Ever."

"Why not?" I demanded, whirling around to fix her with a harsh stare. "Tell me one good reason why that would happen!"

She fixed me with a piercing stare. "Because Eileen Galvin is _dead_."


	20. Chapter 20: The Ultimate Truth

"_Rules without exceptions last eternally.  
__Every move you make creates your destiny."  
_-Kamelot, "When the Lights Are Down"

Chapter 20: The Ultimate Truth

My anger and fear drained from me as I stared at Cynthia in bewilderment. Of all the things I had imagined she might say, I hadn't expected that one. "What?" I went over her words again in my mind, trying to make sense of them. A hesitant laugh escaped me, and I tried not to think about finding Eileen after the attack, where I had been sure she was dead. "Cynthia…why would you say such a thing?"

"Because it's true." She shook her head and looked down at the floor. "Don't you understand? You're not well—you haven't been yourself lately. I knew when we met in the subway that something was wrong, but I didn't know how bad it would get. You're having visions of this woman, based on someone you once knew… Haven't you ever wondered why she can't tell you how you met? Haven't you stopped to think that your past with her seems to hold danger?" She met my eyes and bit her lip, looking upset. "She can't tell you these things because then you would know that she doesn't exist anymore. That she never knew you as well as you want to believe."

"No, that's not true!" I cried. "It has nothing to do with Eileen; it's about the cult, and Walter Sullivan!"

"Stop!" She stepped towards me, reaching out but not quite touching me. "At least I understand why you invented Eileen. I…I know I was never the best girlfriend. I wasn't there for you when I should have been… I can be cruel at times… Maybe I was never really worthy of you…"

"Cynthia," I began, but she cut me off.

"But why you would invent _him_, I just can't understand! Why would you hallucinate that a dead murderer is trying to kill you?" She shook her head. "And this delusion that you're trapped in your apartment…" She trailed off and stared at me, an odd light coming into her eyes.

"What is it?" I asked stiffly, not liking where any of this was going.

"Of course… you had to cut yourself off from the real world to hide from the truth…so you invented someone who would do it for you… You must have read something about the Walter Sullivan case, and the strange behavior of Joseph Schreiber…"

"Stop it!" I held up my hand. "Cynthia, nothing you're saying makes any sense. You're claiming all of this is happening in my head?"

"Haven't things happened that you can explain no other way?"

I hesitated, unable to deny that. Some of the strange events that had plagued me could definitely be explained by some drawn-out delusion of my imagination. I had known for quite some time now that only certain things made sense, and I had begun to piece them together into truth and lies. But if I had gotten the two reversed…

"You're confusing me," I groaned, rubbing my forehead. "I don't know what's real and what isn't…" I looked at her, hoping for anything that would spark a memory in my mind and anchor me to reality. "How do I know that _you're_ real?"

She laughed and put her hands on my shoulders, leaning close again. "Could I do this if I wasn't real?" she asked, kissing me again like she had before.

"Eileen kissed me, too."

Instead of glaring at me again, like I had feared, she twined her arms around me and stroked the back of my neck. "That was from your imagination. I can take you beyond anything you've ever imagined."

Her fingers sent chills through me. She was wearing some sort of perfume that was starting to make it hard to think. Something light and flowery…it seemed familiar. I breathed deeply, searching my memory. I had been close to her before, that had to be it. It was right there, on the edge of my mind, just out of my grasp. Had I held her close to me?

Wrapping my arms around her didn't bring me any closer to the truth, but I didn't let go. It felt nice to hold her against my body—exciting, even. It made my breath quicken and my heart pound. It felt almost forbidden. Perhaps that meant this was the key to my past.

I kissed her this time, roughly pulling her face to mine before I could change my mind. I felt clumsy and awkward, but if Cynthia minded my fumbling kisses, she didn't show any sign of it. When I finally released her, my legs felt weak. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

The room seemed to be blurring around me. I looked around, trying to see any sign of the horror that had been there before. It looked different—not normal, but closer to it, as if the Otherworld was retreating. But was that a good thing, or a bad thing? Was I getting closer to the truth, or further from it? My head still pounded, and I couldn't seem to focus my thoughts on anything but Cynthia.

I _knew_ her. I was sure of it.

"Well this is more like it!" Cynthia laughed, looking up at me with the fires of ardor glowing behind her eyes.

She was almost there in my memories. I could see her standing in front of me, in a different time, in a different place. She was saying something in my memory, but I couldn't hear what it was. The edges of the memory were blurred and hazy, almost as if the ice had crept into my mind to encase even my own thoughts. I reached out for her, intending to stare into her face until I remembered something, but she evaded me with a nimble step to the side.

"So you've changed your mind?" she asked, folding her arms. "You want me now?"

Thinking seemed like such an ordeal. Even her breathing was distracting, drawing my attention to her neckline, which I was convinced was lower than it had been when we had met in the subway station. I wasn't even sure how her shirt was staying up.

That thought made me avert my gaze with burning embarrassment, and I muttered, "I don't remember you enough to remember if I love you," in the general direction of her feet.

Her feet moved closer and closer to me, and then her hand was running through my hair. "That wasn't quite what I asked."

I looked up and stared into her eyes. I felt like I was falling into a deep abyss from which I could never escape. My entire body felt like it was on fire. "I…" _Cynthia was walking past me, so very beautiful. _"I almost…" _She looked at me, and something sparked inside of me. _"I almost remember you…"

Cynthia grabbed me and kissed me with passion, nearly knocking me down. "I'll make you remember everything."

She didn't give me pause to protest even if I had wanted to. She guided me backwards, pressing so close to me that I was forced to move or risk being crushed—not something that sounded entirely unpleasant at the moment, but I could tell she was steering me, so I obeyed without protest.

She backed me against the bedroom door and reached past me to open it. I didn't question how she knew that was the right door, thinking distantly that she must have known me as well as she said, if she knew Room 302 so well. I let her herd me inside, still kissing her with all of my newfound enthusiasm. She pulled away from me for a moment and grabbed the front of my coat.

As she pulled my coat off of me, the bloodstains on it shocked me back into reality. The Otherworlds were real. Terrible things had happened to me there. I looked around at the room, feeling dizzy. It looked normal. The walls were clean and white. Nothing was out of place. Normal…perfect…

Cynthia turned to me with a pout. "Am I going to have to do all the work?"

I gaped at her, feeling dizzy. For a moment, I saw her with blood running down her face as she breathed her last in my arms. Then she was normal again, regarding me with one arched eyebrow. She had taken her hair down, and now it hung in lustrous locks around her face. I wanted to touch it and run my hands through it, but as she moved, I couldn't help but remember the weeping ghost with its long, loose hair.

"Sit down," she urged, pushing on my shoulder.

My legs were too shaky for me to possibly disobey. I collapsed onto the bed, sitting stiffly and wondering what was happening to me. Was I just going crazy?

"Relax," she insisted, sitting beside me and rubbing my shoulders. "I'll take all of your troubles away."

_I couldn't have seen her die. It was my imagination, like she said. A delusion, a hallucination!_

"But what if it was real?" I whispered, staring down at my hands. A shudder ran through me. "What if it all was real? Eileen…she's out there somewhere, and he's going to kill her!"

"You need to get your mind on something else," Cynthia whispered, her lips brushing against the side of my face like a silky caress. "Like me."

The great loneliness and despair that had come and gone since I first found myself trapped in my room reared up like a monster to consume me, and I stared into her eyes for a moment before wrapping my arms around her. I needed someone, I needed _Cynthia_. Something else was rising alongside the loneliness, the flames of passion and desire so strong that they threatened to scorch away any other emotion I felt.

"You always wanted me," she breathed, running her hands along my chest and fiddling with my shirt. "Now you shall have me."

_Truth._ It rang through me like a chord of sudden understanding, and I didn't try to pursue the memory any further. She was right, I wanted her. And if that was the truth, I would pursue it.

I seized Cynthia by the shoulders and pressed her down on the bed, kissing her. She let out a gasp of surprise and then submitted, tantalizing me with her tongue. Wrapping her legs around me, she tugged at my shirt again. Every nerve in my body felt like it was on fire. I had stopped thinking about the Otherworlds, stopped thinking about what was truth—generally stopped thinking about anything except Cynthia's body and how much I wanted her.

I put my hands on her face as I kissed her, sliding them down to her shoulders. Her warm skin electrified me. I could feel her trembling at my touch. I ran my fingers across her collarbone and then lower. Still kissing her, I reached the neckline of her shirt and wondered if she would object. She made no sign of protest, entangling her fingers in my hair and kissing me harder. I stroked her gently, sliding my hand across the warm curve of her breast—and the sudden ridge of a scar.

My eyes snapped open and I pulled my face away from hers. My gaze unwillingly went to the spot my hand had reached. _16/21_. The cuts were there, vivid and red. Blood still streaked her pale skin from the wounds. I thought I could even taste blood on my lips from her kisses. I choked and tried to pull away.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost."

The arms around me were withered and bloodless. Her hands suddenly felt clammy, the touch of the dead. I looked at her pasty skin; the numbers on her chest were the only spot that seemed to have any life. Her eyes were dark and hollow, her lips the thin, colorless lips of a corpse.

I cried out in revulsion and pulled away, hardly able to breathe. I ran to the door, my heart hammering. She called after me, but my horror blocked out everything else. In the hallway, I leaned against the wall and struggled for breath. I couldn't seem to stop shaking.

She's_ dead. She's dead but still walking around… She's one of the ghosts! No, no, it's impossible!_

I put my head in my hands. That couldn't have been real. I had been hallucinating again. That had to be it. Part of me wanted to go back to her. I could still taste her—and the blood.

I choked again, feeling like I was going to be sick. If I returned to that room, I was certain she would look normal again. She would probably be worried about me. She would tell me it had just been my imagination, and that she could make me forget whatever it was that had frightened me.

_No, no, no, I will never let her touch me! I can't! Not now!_

Taking a deep breath, I turned around and braced myself. Whether I saw her alive and seductive or undead and repulsive, I had to face her and tell her I couldn't go through with it. I would tell her it was because of my feelings for Eileen. Yes, that was almost true, and it would make more sense than telling the complete truth. Fixing the words in my mind, I strode back into the room.

"Cynthia, I—" I froze.

"What?" Eileen cocked her head and frowned at me from where she was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Why would Cynthia be here?"

Ice crystals sprang into existence at the edges of my vision, and I collapsed.

xXx

"Wake up."

It was dark and cold. I felt like the ice had frozen around me, and I remembered how close it had looked when it started to appear. I was on the other side, for once, then. A statue of ice, held in place, unable to move until the spell broke.

"You have to wake up."

The cold was everywhere. I couldn't move. The voice, coming from so far away, didn't understand what had happened to me. I wanted to respond, if only to tell it to leave me alone, but the air inside my lungs was frozen. There was nothing but the cold and the darkness, everywhere…even thoughts were hard to come by. Cold, numbing ice…

"Come to me. Follow my voice. Trust me."

The voice… It was Eileen's voice… Her warmth, her kindness…calling from the other side of the ice.

My eyes fluttered open and I saw her. She was standing above me, looking down with a still expression. There was worry in her eyes, but something else, too—something darker. Fear? Beyond her, I could see the walls of Room 302. It was the living room, almost clear in my sight for a moment, but then I saw the hauntings creeping their way in again. The walls were darkening, turning red and bloody. The nightmare had returned.

Suddenly unable to stand the cold, I sat up and wrapped my arms around myself. I had been lying on the floor, near the couch. My coat was on again, and I briefly wondered if the entire incident with Cynthia had been some hallucination.

My stomach tightened as I remembered seeing the numbers that marked her as the 16th victim. I felt dizzy, and I braced my hands against the floor to keep myself from falling. After a moment, I felt well enough to stand.

"We have to go," Eileen urged. "It isn't safe here."

I stared at her for a moment, feeling like something was out of place. "You're here, in Room 302!" I blurted.

"Yes."

"You're safe!" My words came in a rush as I realized that I might finally be able to stop worrying about her. "I mean, it won't be safe here forever, but right now it's safer than the rest of the Otherworlds—"

"No."

Her flat reply cut me short. I stared into her eyes, seeing that the worry and fear I had noticed before had not diminished in the slightest. "What do you mean?"

She sighed and turned away, taking a step towards the door. I realized with a start that the chains were hanging loose. "We need to go to the superintendent's room. You'll need my help to get there."

"The superintendent's room?" I exclaimed. "But this is the center of the Otherworlds! This is it, the deepest part! If we can unravel the truth anywhere, it's here."

She turned and looked into my eyes. "You're almost right. But there is a spot, even deeper than this, and it is blocked."

_The cross._ I shuddered.

She nodded slightly. "That's why we need to go to the superintendent's room."

"How do you know all these things?"

Eileen wrapped her arms around herself. "I…can't explain. Whenever I try, it goes away. There's a…force…preventing me from understanding completely. But it's weaker now, weaker than it was before. I know where we have to go."

_She will destroy you! _Cynthia and George taunted me from beyond a fog of confusion.

I banished their voices. I did not trust them. I trusted Eileen.

"Let's go," I said firmly.

We walked to the door, and I stopped in front of it, staring at it. Eileen opened it, and as it slowly opened to a view of the hallway, I saw the white floor and wall and my heart leapt. Maybe we were free at last, and we would walk together into the real world.

Then the door swung entirely open, and I could see that beyond the patch of apartment right in front of Room 302, South Ashfield Heights had turned into a nightmare. The walls were pulsating and wriggling, like the insides of some awful creature infested with maggots. As I watched, a patch burst, sending a spray of blood onto the floor. Where it had been, pink flesh fell away, leaving behind a hole.

My mouth twisted with disgust and horror as I stared out at the Otherworld.

"We're close to the end," Eileen said softly. "The Otherworlds are falling apart."

"I'm not going out there," I said, starting to shake. The stench of blood and decay wafted through the open door, and I gagged, putting my hand over my mouth. My stomach heaved and I closed my eyes. I couldn't look at this. It had to go away, it had to change, it had to stop…

"Look at me."

For an instant, I hated her, but then I forced myself to open my eyes and look into Eileen's face. She held out her hand, and I took it. The air seemed a little clearer. It felt a little more tolerable. I took a few shaky steps forward and then followed Eileen out into the hallway.

The door shut behind us, and the building began to shake. Dust fell from the ceiling, and more blood spurted from the walls, splattering us both. A small chunk of the floor to the left of Room 302 fell away, crashing down to the hallway below. To our right, the ceiling caved in and collapsed, blocking the path leading to the stairs. A rumbling filled the air. Everything was moving and shifting, as if the whole building was ready to crumble. Only Room 302 stood steady, and I suddenly imagined everything else in the Otherworlds falling away, leaving only the room to stand alone in darkness.

I took a panicked step towards the pile of rubble, but I could already tell that it would be impossible for the two of us to move. Worse still, I thought I could see ice crystals forming in the air.

Eileen tugged my arm in the other direction. "This way!"

Without questioning her plan, I followed as she dashed towards Room 301. The shaking of the building was getting more intense by the minute, and I struggled to keep my footing. Although I had never been about to outrun it before, no ice materialized. It had to have been a trick of my eyes—or my mind.

_I can't go crazy. Not this close to the end._

Unless I was already crazy.

Refusing to let myself think that way, I kept my eyes firmly on Eileen as we walked into the devastated Room 301. The room looked like it had been trashed. Gashes in the walls spread to meet cracks in the floor. Blood pooled everywhere, pouring from the ceiling to drown the magazines and fill the beer cans. Eileen walked through it calmly, moving quickly but without any sign of panic, as blood cascaded all around her.

A gaping hole had opened up in the floor, and she paused for only a second before jumping down into the chasm. I reached out, biting back a cry of fear with difficulty. I approached the edge and saw her standing in the room below, looking up at me. Her gentle eyes were shadowed with sadness and a hint of fear.

Despite the horror of our surroundings, I found myself momentarily mystified as to why she should be afraid. She herself had said that we were almost at the end.

But she did not believe she would survive. She had told me that once. Without a further thought, I jumped down to join her. The landing sent jolts through my legs, but I barely felt the pain. My mind was on Eileen, and I found myself trying to memorize everything about her. Always so kind, so innocent, so loving… My feelings towards her were still as confusing as they had been before, but I swore again that I would protect her. No matter what happened, my Eileen would be safe.

"Come on," she said, turning to walk towards the door.

I followed, but I slowed as I surveyed the room. Strange walls had sprung up, like black iron gates, dividing up the room and leaving only a narrow pathway that could be walked through. Blood ran down the iron in strange rivulets, forming letters that created words and messages to flank us as we passed.

_The 21 Sacraments_

_The Ritual has begun_

_It is happening_

_The Conjurer comes_

_Let the Holy Mother descend_

A shudder ran through me as I read the messages, and my heart pounded faster. Against forces like this, what could we do? The 21 Sacraments…the Conjurer…the Holy Mother… My head beat with pain, and I grimaced. Spots danced before my eyes, and I thought I could see the letters glimmering with blue as the ice began to form.

"No!" With a roar, I sprinted after Eileen. We could not fail now, not when we were this close.

She did not ask me what was wrong. She simply flung open the door and raced out into the hallway with me on her heels. The doorway collapsed just as we got through, and cracks in the wall caused the ceiling to crumble and fall as we ran desperately to get clear.

We raced down the hall as it fell to pieces behind us. I kept an eye on her, afraid that she would fall, but Eileen seemed more sure-footed than I was in the collapsing building. At last we reached the doors, and we pushed them open together before bursting through into the central area.

The floor heaved, tossing us forward. With a scream, Eileen flew towards a blood-soaked railing overlooking the stairs. I fell to the ground, knocked in the other direction by the waves going through the building. She struck the railing and started to topple forward. The floor shook madly, and although her hands tightened around the metal as she fell, the blood was running between her fingers. Her hands started to slide.

"No!" I yelled, jumping up and running towards her. The tremors tossed me from side to side, but I kept moving forward. This Otherworld would not defeat me. It would not claim Eileen.

I reached the railing just as her grip loosened and began to open. She fell backwards. I lunged for her and caught her wrists, pulling her towards me with strength I hadn't known I had. I let myself fall backwards, making gravity help me carry her over the edge and back onto the ground. She collapsed on top of me, and as my terror abated, I found myself wrapping my arms around her limp body.

She stiffened and pulled away. She got to her feet and looked around, eyes wide with something approaching panic.

"Don't be afraid," I said, standing and putting my hands on her shoulders. "I won't let anything happen to you."

A choked sob escaped her, and she put her face in her hands. "We have to keep going."

"Yes." I withdrew my hands and looked around at the ruined building. The earthquake that had nearly killed her had collapsed the stairs. "But how?"

"This way." She headed towards the doors that would lead to the other hallway. "There must be another way through."

_Why?_ I thought bleakly, as I followed her. _Why will he let us get to the end? If he can do this much, why not just trap us here to die?_

_ Because his power is not absolute, _I answered myself. Feeling calmer, I looked upon the ravaged hallway with less fear. _We have power as well, to influence these worlds. There will be a path for us. And we will make it to the end._

As if to mock my newfound confidence, the floor beneath our feet shuddered and fell away before we could move. We fell, and I reached out to Eileen, catching her in my arms and holding her close to me as we struck falling walls and fleshy obstructions on our way to the first floor. Every blow hurt, but I held her closer and tighter, determined that I would shield her from harm.

Though only seconds, the fall seemed to last an eternity, and then we were lying on the wet, quivering floor in front of the superintendent's room. The air felt strange and cold. Sobbing filled the air on the edges of my hearing, reminding me of the voices in the hallucinations. I couldn't tell who the voice belonged to, but whoever it was, they sounded as though they were in the deepest depths of despair.

I looked at the superintendent's door. It was not as clean and protected as the seemingly-sacrosanct door to Room 302, but it still looked as though it had held up better than the other doors in the area. There was something strange about it, however. Instead of a normal lock, a massive padlock covered the door. I had never seen anything like it, and I didn't know how we could get in. A tattered book lay on the floor, distracting me from the lock. I picked it up and realized that it was the superintendent's diary, but all of the pages were blank except for one.

_I had that weird dream again.  
__The one with the man with the long hair and coat.  
__He was crying and looking for his mother again.  
__I saw that  
__man with the coat  
__10 years ago at this apartment.  
__He was going up the stairs, carrying a heavy tool,  
__an old-looking bowl and a bag that was dripping  
b__lood.  
__I never saw him again after that.  
__But he did something to that room.  
__Room 302.  
__That's when it all began.  
__I never saw him again, but I know  
__he's still here.  
__Sometimes I think I know him.  
__He's the abandoned baby. The little boy.  
__I've heard things about that place.  
__The Wish House.  
__I wish I'd never let him go there. There had to be another way.  
__He can't have been happy there.  
__Whenever I have that dream, I try to see  
__his face.  
__There was a murderer in Silent Hill and Ashfield. His name was  
__Walter Sullivan.  
__He had long hair and wore a coat.  
__He was insane. He followed the Order.  
__The Order ran the Wish House.  
__There had to be another way. I should have done things differently.  
__I would, now. I would—_

The page froze in my hands before I could finish reading it, becoming crisp with ice. I dropped it in alarm and watched as blue frost coated the doorway, sealing it tightly. Despair settled in upon me at the thought that we had been so close, and I waited for the inevitable.

Eileen grabbed my arm and yanked me away from the door. "Hurry!"

I didn't argue, choosing instead to flee the ice with her in the hopes that it would work. Once we reached the doors, I risked a glance back. The ice had only touched the superintendent's door. Everything else was normal—if that was even a word I could apply to the current state of things.

Out in the central area, I gave the main doors a longing look, remembering how they had once opened onto what had looked like the real world. Then something caught my eye. The red tendrils that covered the floor were clinging to some sort of book. Drawn by a strange curiosity I couldn't explain, I knelt and pulled the book free.

It looked like a child's sketchbook.

Flipping over the black cover, I looked at blank page after blank page. I flipped through them until I found one that had a stick figure scribbled onto it. It was hard to tell what it was supposed to be, but something about it made me think that it was some sort of…father…

Ice crept out of the page and covered the image, claiming the entire book as I tossed it to the floor.

"We need to find the key for the superintendent's room. This way," Eileen urged, pulling me towards the doors to the other wing, and I followed without complaint.

The building was no longer shaking, but everything was in a state of ruin. A part of me felt that even the ice couldn't destroy it much further. The doors in that hallway were splintered and the walls were cracked and pitted. The floor had gaps and precarious ledges, and everything was slick with blood. The air was cold, and there seemed to be a slight darkness that had settled over the area.

"How do you know we can find the key here?" I asked, feeling unaccountably nervous.

Eileen's hesitation was brief, but noticeable. "I don't know how," she finally said. "I just know this is where we have to go."

"All right," I whispered, deciding that I would have to trust her again.

Skirting around holes in the floor and dodging chunks of plaster and wood that fell from the ceiling, I followed her down the hall. Some of the doors had almost fallen completely, but when I looked through the gaps into the rooms beyond, I saw only darkness. It was as black as night inside, and I suddenly felt sure that that darkness was responsible for the gloom that seemed to be falling across the apartment building. It was a void creeping out to claim everything, as the Otherworld crumbled into its depths.

It got darker and colder with every step, and I took so many steps that I wondered if the hallway had gotten longer. We had to be reaching the end soon. Wherever this key was, it couldn't be much further. Yet it seemed that we had been walking for far too long. Something was wrong. We would never reach the end. This was some sort of trap.

Just as I opened my mouth to tell Eileen that I wanted to turn back, she stopped and looked solemnly ahead. I followed her gaze and my eyes widened.

At the end of the hallway was a massive statue. Carved out of stone, it filled the area with graceful beauty. An angel stood amidst the macabre wreckage of the dying apartment building, a look on infinite sorrow on her features. Her gaze was downcast, her mouth tilted in an expression of hopelessness. Her slender arms were spread wide, and the stone likeness of her flowing robes hung down in majestic folds to brush the floor. The mighty wings were covered in dust and cobwebs, but their radiance shone through undiminished, and the strands of hair cut into that silver stone cast a beauty upon that sad visage.

And on her chest, embedded deeply into the stone, was a thick black key that perfectly matched the padlock on the superintendent's door.

I walked forward, stepping past Eileen and staring at the statue. Who had made it? How had it gotten here? When I got closer, I realized just how big it was. I felt diminutive beside it. For as beautiful and sad as the statue was, something about it terrified me.

Feeling the sudden and unreasoning fear growing stronger inside my chest, I reached up to the key before I could change my mind. My fingers curled around the cold metal, and I pulled the key free. The indentation left behind seemed deep and dark, and I stepped back hastily as pain clouded my mind.

_"Oh, shut the hell up! You can't blame it all on me!"_

The voice in the hallucination was harsh and cold, and the temperature around me dived. In the suddenly frigid hallway, I turned to look at Eileen. She had already turned around, as if to head back to the superintendent's room. To my horror, the walls in front of us were frosting over and turning blue. Ice began to grow, spreading outwards it form a wall in front of her.

"No!" I groaned, clutching the key to my chest. "Not when we're this close!"

Eileen reached out and touched the ice. Then she smashed it, sending translucent splinters everywhere.

I gaped at the clear path ahead of us, unable to believe my eyes. "You stopped the ice!" I cried in amazement.

She looked at me. Her eyes were serious. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," I replied immediately.

"No matter what may happen? No matter what you may fear or believe?"

A little more uncertainly this time, I said, "Yes…"

She nodded and stared down the hall, her face setting into a grim expression. "Then let's go. We have to hurry." She held out her hand.

The misgivings planted in me by George and Cynthia flitted through my mind and left just as quickly. I took her hand, clasping it tightly. Then we began to run down the hall.

It was just as dangerous—even more so, in fact, as this area of the building seemed to be entering an advanced state of decay, looking more like a peeling corpse with every minute. Nevertheless, I almost found myself smiling. We were really going to get out of this. We had the key, the ice could be overcome, and it seemed like every step was taking us closer to freedom.

_"I told you we shouldn't have a baby, didn't I?!"_

The baby. The voice was speaking about the abandoned baby, the little boy, the orphan, the cultist, the murderer—these thoughts filled me with sudden panic. I didn't want to hear any more of these.

"I don't want to hear any more!" I shouted out loud, even as a thin sheet of ice flowed down from the ceiling to block our way.

Eileen, still holding my hand tightly, burst through the ice as easily as if it were empty space, pulling me along behind her. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I was going to have to ask her to stop so that I could rest. No one could stop us now. No one.

We had almost reached the end of the hallway. It seemed shorter than it had before. The superintendent's room was almost within our reach.

_"Anyway, let's get outta here. I can't stand it anymore…"_

"No!" I shouted at the voice, stopping in my tracks. The walls were crystallizing all around me, ice coming in to claim the hallway. "No, don't do it! You don't know what he'll do! You don't know what he'll become!"

Without saying a word, Eileen increased her speed, pulling me through the doors just seconds before the ice sealed them closed forever. I ran with her, wanting to get to the end…wanting to get this over with… Then the sketchbook caught my eye. Still covered in ice, it lay abandoned on the floor.

I stopped to look at it, my hand slowly slipping out of Eileen's.

_"Stupid little cry-baby!"_

This was _his_ father speaking, I was sure of it. He was responsible for everything that had happened. "How could you do it?" I shouted, barely aware of the ice spreading throughout the room, rising up from the floor to create a barrier between me and Eileen. "It wasn't right! It was evil!"

She reached through the ice and caught my hand, pulling me through. When my body struck the ice, at first I thought it would hold, but then I was through, running towards the doors. She opened them and headed through. I tried to follow, but it was as if something was holding me back.

_"If that super hears him, we're in trouble. There's something about that guy…"_

This time I was waiting for the ice, and I dashed through it even as Eileen tried to pull me along. Then we were in the hallway, running towards the superintendent's room. We were almost there, and even if the doorway was covered in ice, I was no longer so sure it mattered. What had once been an impenetrable obstacle was now something that could be broken and smashed.

The ice was gone. The door was clear, with only the massive padlock blocking our way. I stepped forward and inserted the key I had taken from the statue. It fit perfectly. I twisted it and heard the _click_ as it unlocked. Then I reached for the doorknob and opened the door. Inside, the superintendent's room looked almost normal, but I hesitated, lingering in the hallway. Now that we were finally there, I was almost afraid to continue on.

"Come on," Eileen said, walking inside.

I stared after her, feeling so cold and afraid that I could hardly stand it. I had to take a step and follow her…but what was waiting for us in there. What was it that could possibly return me to that terrible cross in Room 302?

_"Hurry up—get packed!"_

_No, don't do it! Don't do it!_

Ice spread across the doorway, preventing me from getting inside. I could just barely see Eileen through it on the other side, but I couldn't tell if she had noticed. Panic filled me. It was so thick this time, I wasn't sure I could get through. What if this was the end? We were separated now… I might not see her again until one of us was dead.

"No!" I lunged for the doorway, pounding on the ice. It didn't budge. I glared at it, clenching my fists and pounding on it with all my strength. "You _will_ let me through!"

A crack formed, followed by a second. Then the ice melted away, disappearing as though it had never existed. With a triumphant smile, I marched forward to join Eileen. She was standing in the center of the room, hands folded and head bowed.

"We made it," I said, wondering why she looked so unhappy. "What do we do now?"

"Go to the bookshelf," she said quietly, "and look at the box that is sitting there. I'm going now."

I had taken half a step towards the bookshelf, but now I stopped and stared at her. "Going? What are you talking about, going where?"

"I'm going back to Room 302. Go to the deepest part. Find the Ultimate Truth!"

"Eileen!" I cried, reaching out to her as she started to back towards the door. "Wait! We'll leave together!"

"I'm sorry," she said, giving me a sad smile. "If I stay with you now, it will only make things worse. Trust me." She looked at me for a moment longer and then turned and left the room.

I felt like my heart had been ripped from me. The panic and fear that had been rising up in me ever since I saw the statue reached a screeching crescendo within my chest, encouraging me to run after her and catch her, or risk losing her forever. I had vowed to protect her; I could not do anything that could cost me the life of my dear Eileen. Not even the secrets that awaited me here were worth that.

_Trust me._

But that was.

I put my face in my hands, groaning in indecision. I did trust Eileen. That meant I had to do what she had told me.

_"No matter what may happen? No matter what you may fear or believe?"_

I had promised.

Taking a nervous breath, I turned to the bookshelf and approached it. The small box look innocuous enough, but my hands shook as I reached out for it. I swallowed hard as I held it and brushed my fingers across the lid. I braced myself, imagining all sorts of horrors that might lurk within, and then I opened it.

The box was empty.

Pain struck my head, and I fell to my knees. The box dropped from my hands. My vision was hazy and red with pain, but I could see the beginnings of blue ice creeping out to encase the room. _No, no, no!_ It could not come now. I would not let it. I had seen the box and its terrible secret—_terrible?_ What made me think that about it? There was nothing terrible about an empty box.

Yet I could not deny that I felt more afraid now than I had ever felt in my life. My mind screamed at me to stay where I was and not go near that horrible cross in Room 302. But Eileen had gone there, and she expected me to join her. Even without that to drive me, I knew deep inside that I had to continue.

I got to my feet and looked down at the box on the floor. After a moment, I decided to leave it there. I turned around and found myself looking into the face of George Rosten.

"You!" I yelped, jumping backwards.

"Don't do this," he said, reaching out to me. "Don't go to that room!"

I kept out of his reach, staring at him in shock. He didn't look like a ghost. He looked distressed, more weary and afraid than he ever had before, but otherwise unchanged. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to warn you."

"But I killed you!" I cried. "I _killed_ you!"

He smiled sadly and spread out his arms. "Hey, no hard feelings or anything, you know what I mean?"

"This isn't real," I said, closing my eyes. I started to walk past him. "You're not real. You can't be. You're dead."

"Maybe I am," he admitted with a wry chuckle. "Maybe you're dead, too. Maybe we're all dead!"

My eyes snapped open and I whirled around. "That's not funny!"

"No," he agreed, "it isn't."

I shook my head and started to turn back towards the door.

"Please!" George cried, grabbing my arm and holding me back. "I know… I know a lot of terrible stuff has happened to you. And I know you don't trust me, not really. I guess you don't even like me very much. But we had some good times, too, didn't we? It wasn't all bad. If that meant anything to you, if our friendship ever meant _anything_ to you, _please_ don't do this!"

I stared at him helplessly. "I have to."

"No you don't," he insisted. For a second, there was a hint of the old, amused George in his face. "Just come with me. I'll help you out of this. All of this crazy stuff will stop happening. It'll be hard for you at first, but with my help, you'll rebuild a normal life piece by piece."

"I…don't believe you," I whispered, not meeting his gaze.

"If you'll believe nothing else, believe _this_!" he snarled. He folded his arms and glared at me. "You've called me a liar, and you're right. Never thought I'd admit it, did you? Yes, I'm a liar and a cultist and I've done terrible things. But I didn't lie about our friendship. And I didn't lie when I said that following Eileen Galvin will destroy you." His baleful stare crumpled into an expression of mournful pleading. "Come with me. Don't do this. It's the only way I can save you. _Please._"

"I'm sorry, George," I said quietly. I put my hand on his shoulder. "I really am."

His offer, and the safety it promised, tempted me. But to follow him meant to turn my back on the truth and head deeper into the web of lies that had so confused me and clouded my mind. My amnesia did provide its own comforts, but I was tired of such an escape. I wanted the truth.

The words from the forest flashed back into my mind. _Truth_ had been the skeleton. At the time, I had wondered if that meant I was going to die. Suddenly I wondered if George really was telling me the truth. Pursuing the truth…would lead me to death.

_So be it,_ I thought grimly, and I turned away from him and left the room.

xXx

Somewhere, a bell was tolling.

The cold, clear note rang out through the building. The dying hallways seemed darker, but somehow calmer. It was as if everything was frozen in time, waiting in stasis for the inevitable conclusion. I began to walk down the hallway. I knew the paths Eileen and I had taken were blocked or destroyed, but I also knew I had to return to Room 302.

And somehow, I felt calmly assured that I would.

I walked through the hallway unopposed. The destruction had ceased. When I reached the central area, I stared out at the devastated staircase, looking for a way up. Even as I searched, knowing there had to be a way, rubble shifted and moved. The stairs shimmered and changed. They hadn't quite repaired themselves entirely, just enough for someone to reach the upper floors.

For a moment, I was astounded, but then I realized that the influence I had over the Otherworld was growing. My need was so great that the laws of this place were obeying me.

"And you will not take Eileen from me," I warned the Otherworld as I approached the steps. My heart was pounding. Something told me that her danger was increasing with each new note from the bell—or was that a clock, chiming away our final hour?

_No!_

I raced up the steps, running faster than I ever had before. Barely sparing the second floor a glance, I continued along my way. As before, the rubble blocking my path flew to the sides, and the broken stairs mended themselves, allowing me to continue unimpeded. A doll fell away as I ran, a doll I remembered once finding here. I remembered the look on Eileen's face as she saw it, and inexplicable terror suffused me. I was going to be too late. No, no, I couldn't be too late!

Once on the third floor, I threw open the doors leading to the rooms, but my steps faltered and I drew in a ragged breath as I saw what awaited me.

The ghosts lined the hall. All of them, pressed together, staring at me with those terrible eyes I had come to hate so much. They reached out, pale hands stretching towards me. They swayed in the air, filling the room with some strange dirge chanted in low, unearthly voices. It was a lament, sung in time to the chiming clock, their voices edged with both fear and anticipation. They did not move towards me, made no attempt to pursue me. Yet they still wanted something from me. I could see it in their eyes. By choice or compulsion, the hall leading to Room 302 had become their domain, and they were waiting for me to enter.

They wanted my death. They always had. Even now, I could see the hatred burning deep within them, even if these other emotions had pushed it away from the surface. Did I dare cross the threshold and put myself in their power?

_Or…_

I clasped my hands tightly together as an idea came to me. The hallway was clear, unobstructed by anything, even though Eileen and I had not been able to walk that way. The force of my will had cleared the path here. Could it not get rid of the ghosts?

_The ghosts do _not_ exist!_

I began to concentrate on that statement, intending to force it to be so, but I hesitated. My thoughts drifted from turning that hope into a certainty, as I wondered if it were even possible to do. The ghosts seemed to be beings, of a sort, not just products of the Otherworld that a single focused mind could dispel. Even if I could do it, was it right to make them vanish?

_They want me dead! They hate me, and I hate them!_

_ But they're already dead! Would you kill them again?_

A shudder ran through me, and I stared at the ghosts with wide eyes. Was there anything human left in them, or were they just monsters to be destroyed? Eileen was in danger; I couldn't waste my time on sympathy for these forces.

But they were _real._ I did not believe they would go, no matter what I did. They were fixed to this place as surely as Room 302 itself was. They were as real to the Otherworlds as I was. I could see it in their eyes—blazing so brightly. They were all staring at me now, their song rising to a climax as their gazes burned into my skull. They were waiting for me.

"If you will kill me," I called out from the doorway, "at least wait until after I have saved Eileen! Spare her!"

The ghosts gave no reply, but I could no longer afford to delay. I took a step into the hallway, holding my breath. When no attack came, I allowed myself to breathe again and walked slowly towards the ghosts and Room 302. Soon I had reached them, but only their gazes moved to follow me. Increasing my pace, I hurried towards the room.

Hands reached out to brush me, and the haunting music came to an end. In its place, they began to whisper.

_"Look at us…"_

_ "Understand…"_

_ "Look at me…"_

_ "Look…"_

_ "Look…"_

The temptation to obey grew inside of me, but as their whispered commands grew more frenzied, my nerve failed me. Keeping my gaze fixed firmly ahead, I broke into a run. The ghosts screamed in rage behind me, but I was almost at the door. The wall and floor were still white, clean, and perfect. Yet as my feet clattered across the floor, I thought I saw the illusion fade for just an instant, returning so quickly that it might have been my imagination.

I burst into Room 302 and slammed the door behind me to keep out the ghosts. Inside, the walls around me flickered wildly—first they were clean, promising a return to the real world; then they were bloodstained and grimy, threatening a quick journey to oblivion. Back and forth they went, salvation and doom appearing in turn, but I ignored them. It no longer mattered what was real and what wasn't. Eileen had gone ahead of me, and I knew where.

With single-minded purpose, I ran to the secret room at the end of the hall. My head was pounding terribly, but I didn't care. The ice was gone. I could see the cross. I walked towards it. Breathing steadily and keeping myself from reacting to the fear rising up in me and the pain in my head, I continued walking until I was just inches away. Then, on an impulse, I reached out and touched it.

The pain flared in my head blindingly as my fingers brushed the wood. I pitched forward into darkness…

…and opened my eyes on a different room.

Everything was hazy red, as if blood filled the room, and then it dissipated. I was in a circular room. At the very center was a pool of blood, churning from the motions of a monstrous machine. It was some sort of sphere of black metal, with rings turning and spinning around it like a giant gyroscope. They beat the blood like it was batter, and I suddenly pictured it as a blender. It was no decoration, but some sort of a death machine…

Steps led down to it from a platform above. And on the steps, walking steadily but certainly to her doom, was Eileen.

"No!" I shouted. "Eileen!"

She didn't turn in reaction to my voice, or even give any sign that she had heard at all. She just kept walking forward. And she had almost reached the pool of blood.

_Too late, too late, why did you let the ghosts delay you?_

"No!" I shouted, running towards her.

Her feet touched the blood. I was blind to anything else in my panic. Even if I ran, I would never reach her in time to pull her away. She was almost at the horrible device, and I could see in my mind's eye her blood spraying, hear her scream as she was torn to pieces. Her wounds were back, wicked bruises playing across her face, one arm in a sling…I knew the horrible gashes were in her back, even if I couldn't see them. I could picture them as vividly as if they were right in front of me. A maniac had put them there, a wicked, _evil_ monster, and now he was going to claim her life as he had claimed the lives of so many others.

"_NO!_" I roared, springing forward and throwing out my arms as though I could force her back.

As my voice echoed through the chamber, the machine ground to a halt. Eileen stared at the motionless device for a moment and then collapsed on the stairs.

I ran to her, my heart pounding. I had done it. Now we could escape. I jumped up onto the stairs and gathered her in my arms gently. Pulling her out of the blood, I crouched with her on the platform. She was very still.

"Eileen?" I whispered, cradling her. She lay limply against me, head lolling over my arm. My heart stopped for a moment, and I searched her frantically for any sign of life. "Eileen?" I ran my hand through her hair and then found myself shaking her by her shoulders, anything at all to wake her up. "Eileen! Eileen, no!"

"It's no use. She's dead."

The voice struck me like a cold wind. Laying Eileen down very carefully on the platform, I stood up. Dead. The word did not seem to hold the meaning that it should. How could she be dead? Feeling a strange dread settle over me, I turned around and left the platform, walking forward to face the man who had appeared in the room.

Joseph Schreiber regarded me levelly, no trace of emotion on his face.

"She can't be dead," I said.

"She is."

"She _can't_ be dead!" I repeated, growing angry. I clenched my hands into fists and glared at him. "I stopped the machine in time! She was walking towards it, but I stopped it! I saved her! She's _not_ dead!"

"Stop it!" he snapped. "This madness has gone on for far too long! You couldn't stand the truth, so you created a fantasy world where everything would go as you thought it should have gone… but you couldn't even hold it together. You, Henry Townshend the hero… George Rosten, a benevolent teacher painting a crimson path back to the Order… Me, ruthlessly pursuing the truth no matter what the cost—an ally you could never quite accept, unlike _dear _Eileen Galvin… Conflicting fantasies beating against one another as reality tried to break through—now, as all these lies shut down around you, you're still trying to believe in them!"

"What are you talking about?" I whispered, staring at him. I shook my head. "You're crazy; you're trying to confuse me! Did you do this? Are you the one—"

"Silence!" Joseph's eyes now practically glowed with fury. "You've tried to stop me…but no longer… You know that it's true! Eileen Galvin is dead!"

"No!" I took a step towards him, grabbing my pistol out of reflex. "Did you do this? Are you the one who killed her?"

He started laughing. "Oh no, no, it wasn't me… Who do you think I am?"

It took me a moment to realize he actually wanted an answer. I stared at him. "Joseph Schreiber?" I asked uncertainly.

"Joseph Schreiber is dead."

I took a step away from him. "What…what are you talking about?" I raised the gun slowly, as if by shooting him, I could make this nightmare end. "None of this is real. It can't—"

"For once in your life, face the truth!" he snarled, his face livid with anger. "Eileen Galvin is dead! Joseph Schreiber is dead! And, I'm afraid, Henry Townshend is definitely dead!"

His words hung between us in the silence that followed, as I stared at him and shook my head. My gun suddenly felt useless. There was a sense of truth about his words; something about them struck my core and told me that I could not deny them. He was not lying to me. But none of it was possible.

"How," I began, struggling to find the words. "How…how did it happen?"

"How? You _know_ how!"

I shook my head frantically, backing away from him. My amnesia—I wanted to explain, but the words stuck in my throat.

"You killed them!"

The words hit me like an anvil, and I shook my head even harder, trying to find the words to deny his claim. But I couldn't speak, couldn't even form the phrases in my mind that would be necessary to defend myself. No, it was impossible; it was insane! I had found the notes. I had tried to save the victims. I…

"Yes," he whispered, taking a step towards me and fixing me in place with his stare. "It was you. It was always you."

_Truth…_ The Ultimate Truth… I clapped my hands over my ears, trying to will away the room around me and make Joseph disappear, but not even the ice rapidly spreading out from around me was able to silence his accusation.

"_You_ killed them… Walter Sullivan."


	21. Chapter 21: Walter Sullivan

"_Last night I had a vivid dream,  
__I found a place where nothing's what it seems.  
__I'm bound to walk this earth alone,  
__I am a hunter and the heir to the throne."  
_-Hammerfall, "Natural High"

Chapter 21: Walter Sullivan

Joseph's words hung between us as the ice swooped up from the ground to consume him, leaving him a translucent statue in the frozen wasteland that surrounded me. I stared around at the ice that had taken over the Otherworlds, feeling numb in confusion and disbelief.

You _killed them… Walter Sullivan._

My head was pounding. I gritted my teeth and grimaced, trying to force the pain away. I saw Eileen's body, frozen in place where she had fallen. She had promised to lead me to the Ultimate Truth, and George and Cynthia had sworn it would destroy me. I had followed her anyway, because I trusted her—but more importantly, because I needed to know the truth, no matter what it was.

_Even if the truth is that I'm not who I think I am._

I shook my head, staring at the crystalline landscape around me as if the answers would appear within its depths. It was impossible, wasn't it?

But what did I really know about Henry Townshend? Only what I could discern from the objects in the apartment and the confusing, mismatched stories other people had told me. My memories did not extend past my imprisonment in the apartment. I had no proof of my past. I only had a name, a vague framework, and a belief…or a wish.

I rubbed my head. If the pain would just go away, I could think and see through these lies… I tried to calm down and think things through clearly, but a tangle of thoughts rushed at me at once, as hazy images of people appeared in the ice around me.

_Frank Sunderland, the father I never had._

_ Jasper Gein and his friends, the friends I could never make._

_ Andrew DeSalvo, stricken down by justice for his crimes._

_ Richard Braintree, convicted as the murderer I thought he was._

_ Cynthia Velasquez, the girl I both wanted and hated._

_ George Rosten, a benevolent teacher and a true friend._

_ Eileen Galvin, the one who would always be there for me._

_ Joseph Schreiber, the investigator, a hostile ally, always searching for the truth._

_ Myself, the hero I never was._

The pain in my head seemed to reach a breaking point, and I dropped to my knees as the ice shattered all around me. Splintering into a million tiny shards, it struck my skin as I fell into the darkness that it had covered and held back.

Into a familiar nightmare.

xXx

The worst part was knowing that this nightmare would never end.

I opened my eyes slowly, almost mechanically. I knew what I had to face, and although I dreaded it, I still had one last sliver of hope that I was wrong.

The room around me was dark and cold. Light came dimly from the lamps still, but it was a reddish glow that accentuated the blood-like stains that covered everything. The air was heavy, and either a haze was in the air or my own vision was blurry. These days, I couldn't be sure.

I reached out and touched the wall, half-expecting my hand to come away wet with blood. It did not, however; the wall was as dry as that of a normal apartment, and as cold as I felt inside.

How long had it been since I had touched another person? How long had it been since I had _spoken_ to another person?

No, no, it hadn't been that long ago at all. I looked around at the room and nodded to myself. Yes, I had spoken to people just recently…but they had been victims. Did that count? They had been here with me, cut off from the outside world.

And now, it was just me.

_I am entirely alone._

No, I wasn't alone. It would have been better if I was. Somewhere, _he_ was here as well, watching me with those too-familiar eyes of his, and probably passing judgment in his own calm way.

Was he here right now? I let my gaze dart around the room, feeling inexplicably paranoid. It wasn't that I was afraid, exactly—no, not at all. Whenever I saw him, though, I felt doubt and despair begin to creep into my mind, telling me that perhaps I had lost after all. Our last confrontation hadn't gone well, for reasons I was reluctant to think about.

In fact, the entire apartment was starting to fill me with despair.

_I've failed, with no way out, no chance of salvation, no hope remaining…_

"No!" I growled out loud, leaving my resting place to look elsewhere. This couldn't be…

I glanced down and noticed in the eerie light that the state of my own clothing wasn't far above that of the room. I grimaced. That was fitting, I supposed.

I looked at the lamp and wondered if there was any way to get it to shine a little more brightly. Maybe these walls could just be cleaned.

_If I lit some Holy Candles, would they drive this darkness away?_

I shivered, suddenly wondering when it had gotten this bad. It was impossible to tell that this apartment had once been bright, clean, and warm. These bloody hues were its permanent colors now. The walls were marred from _things_ forcing their way in, the windows were so opaque as to suggest there no longer even was any world other than this one, and the room felt about as welcoming as a prison.

Had it been a gradual change? Is that why I hadn't noticed before? Had it come on suddenly, driven by powers beyond even my understanding of this place? Or was it me—had I grown so accustomed to the things I saw that even this hadn't fazed me before?

I had the sudden conviction that this was a terrible, evil place.

_But this is my…_

"No!" I shouted again. This was only a nightmare. I had enough of them, after all. I would wake up soon. After all, none of those horrors could truly come here. Room 302 was sanctuary. This…

This could not be reality.

I began to run again. I had to get out of here. It didn't matter where I went, so long as I got out of this room.

I laughed weakly when I saw the space where the front door used to be. It was barely visible now, just a faint outline in the reddish wall. That certainly wasn't going to help me escape, but fortunately, I knew another way out.

The bathroom door wouldn't budge. After all of my attempts to force it open failed, I stared at it in dismay. Had I done that? Could I have been so disoriented as to actually lock myself in? Next I went to the laundry room, and I met with similar failure.

In a sudden panic brought on by my feelings of despair and claustrophobia, I raced around the apartment wildly. There had to be something; there always was something. I threw aside papers, magazines, an article on the Wish House…finally my gaze landed upon the storage box in the living room.

_Holy Candles._

I had to try. Even though I wasn't sure what I was afraid of, or what I thought those little candles could possible do, I dove for the box. It was locked tight, giving no indication that I could force it open any more than the doors.

I laughed hysterically and resumed my mad search of the apartment. There was a painting that seemed unusual, and when I took a closer look at it, I realized that it showed twenty-one people.

_Twenty-one people…_

One of them was me. I stared at my own face for a minute, and then I shuddered and turned away. And I had once thought I could be a hero. Once, long ago…those naïve dreamed seemed so far away from this oppressive room.

I shuddered again, because I knew that my thoughts were getting close to those fears that I had yet to fully admit to myself. Offering a silent prayer, although to what, I did not know, I continued on in the hope that I would find something that would tell me that all hope was not yet lost.

A framed photograph caught my eye, and I picked it up. It was untouched enough that I could make out the features of the person in it—a serious-looking man, with short brown hair—but to my alarm, I couldn't quite focus in on who he was.

The past few days were a traumatic blur in my mind, and that photograph was enough to convince me that the last vestiges of my sanity were quickly unraveling. I had to get out of here, even if there was nowhere to go. Maybe then, away from this room—I bit back a sob that seemed to come out of nowhere—I could think more clearly, and piece myself back together. Even the gruesome familiarity of the Otherworlds might be a comfort now.

Yet I had no way of leaving. Refusing to give up, I ran to my last hope—the windows—and began to hit them with the picture frame in my hand. Surely they would break…surely there was something on the other side left to see… There had to be something here beyond just me and this room.

All at once, as if summoned by my growing panic, he was there. I could feel him watching me, as I continued my futile assault on the windows. I stopped, but I didn't turn around. I couldn't. I was afraid of what I might see, and what I might realize.

"Come to witness my fall?" I asked, more calmly than I felt. "There's no hope left for me, is there? What do you expect me to say? That you were right? That I've lost? That everything I did was for nothing, and all of my hopes and dreams were destroyed by the Order?"

The silence that greeted my rambling was more unnerving than anything he might have responded with. "Say _something!_" I shouted, whirling around angrily.

Our eyes met, for just a moment, and then a fierce pain lanced through my brain. I cried out, gripping my head. The pain was intense, and with it I could feel something else…a second consciousness intruding on my own.

_No!_

I grimaced and tried to fight what was happening, but images began to bombard me until I was overwhelmed. A cross in the darkness, rising up before me…the Wish House, bleak and terrible…the door of this same apartment, Room 302… On and on they came, until emotions began to sweep through me as well. Loneliness, and terror, and torment so deep—they engulfed my mind until I was no longer sure where my own feelings began and his ended.

I saw bodies, bloody and broken, devastated beyond repair… I found myself questioning my own identity; for a moment I felt a jumble of conflicting perspectives, and with that confusion came a rush of pain and blood…and _death._

The full reality of my situation suddenly crashed down on me like an anvil, and the despairing scream that had been gradually building up in the back of my throat burst free.

I found myself running back to that painting I had noticed earlier. Twenty-one people. I looked at their faces, and then I looked down at the photograph I still held. In a burst of lucidity—rare these days—I connected a name to him at last.

_Henry Townshend, the Receiver of Wisdom._

"The hero of this tragic tale?" I asked despairingly.

I looked at the photograph, and then I looked at the painting, and I looked at the other faces and then for a moment at the wall of the apartment, and I thought about Miss Eileen Galvin, the Mother Reborn, and then I looked back at the painting.

"This cannot be!" I cried out loud, searching for the hope that had remained in me when I had awoken just a short time ago.

But something had happened, and I could no longer continue lying to myself.

I shuddered and gripped my head, but before I could do anything more, a chill swept through the air. They were coming.

The wall cracked and shivered as the ghost forced his head through into the room. He stared at me with a ghoulish, hate-filled gaze, and I took a step away from Jimmy Stone, the first victim.

A sound caught my ear, and I turned my head to see another one coming, even as he climbed out of the wall. And there, on the other wall—from there, too, they were coming.

The photograph fell from my grip as the ghostly legions advanced upon me. They came closer and closer, and I had one fleeting, bitter regret that I could not have been the hero, before darkness swept over me and I fell to the floor.

xXx

I came awake with a start, and for a moment, I was completely disoriented.

"Oh man, what a dream," I groaned, gripping my head when I finally got my bearings. My heart was still pounding, but at least I knew where I was. I was in the dubious safety of Room 302, my apartment. And despite the sense of mixed identities that had filled me during the nightmare, I knew I was…

_No._

My eyes widened as I stared around at the clean walls of the bedroom of Room 302. No, this was an illusion. I remembered my nightmare now, every piece of it, including those parts I had tried to block out. I remembered the despair and horror I had felt when I realized that the place I was in was evil, that instead of the comfort that should have come to me, I was more isolated than ever before, that my mother had not come to protect me. I remembered how _he_ had always been there, my younger self—judging me, hating me, until even I had looked around at the "sanctuary" I had wrought and realized that I had done something terrible. I remembered the guilt and fear that bridged the gulf between us, joining my consciousness to his and showing me what I looked like through his eyes—a _murderer_, someone so wicked and evil that I had even killed Eileen Galvin, the one person even I, as far gone as I had been, should have had the compassion to spare. I remembered the ghosts coming, my victims out to destroy me, until the trauma and shock forced me into a fugue state where I could hide from what I had done…

_And from who I am._

_ Walter Sullivan._

"Noooooo!" I cried in anguish, clutching my head as the memories I had blocked for so long crashed in upon me. My loneliness, my terror at the Wish House, my true encounters with George, Cynthia, Eileen, and all the others… The murders and my own suicide, every detail…

The illusory Room 302 faded, white walls bleeding into the red walls from the nightmare, though they flickered and faded into darkness from time to time. I stood up slowly and looked around. I understood now. These Otherworlds were keyed to my thoughts and memories. That was why they had crumbled when I willingly abandoned my lies, and why my will had been able to manipulate them.

I could build a new world here, but it would all be false. I was alone here, except perhaps for the ghosts. This would be our existence for eternity, unless I used my power to bring in others from the real world and trap them, as I had Joseph and Henry.

George would have approved of such a plan. I shuddered. Eileen would have said it was monstrous.

I paced over to the windows that now looked out only onto darkness. Had they ever shown the real world to me, or had it all just been part of my illusion? They had once shown the real world to Henry.

But the 21 Sacraments had been completed. They had not brought my mother to me. I had blinded myself to the truth for years. The ritual had summoned the Holy Mother—the demonic god of the Order—to _cleanse_ and_ redeem_ the world. I understood the Order all too well. Any deity of theirs would bring only destruction and suffering. With the time that had passed, it was doubtful there was even a world left.

_No, I will not believe that!_

I strode across room, anger and guilt driving my steps. This was my doing. But this time, I would not hide from the truth. The bedroom door flew open at my approach, as did the door to the apartment. I looked at the red, ravaged hallway outside and narrowed my eyes. In a blink, the Apartment World had vanished, replaced instead with a stone hallway lit by torched. I ignored them and marched steadfastly along, taking grim comfort in the darkness.

Of course the library George had shown me did not exist in the real world. It was just my collection of knowledge about the Order, mixed in with my expectations and fantasies about what the cult might have hidden. But everything I had ever seen and heard was located there. There were books on the rituals. There was a book on aglaophotis, the substance which had stopped Dahlia Gillespie's plans for Alessa. There was a book on the Metatron, always an enemy of the cult. There was just a chance that the library contained a book on how to reverse the Descent of the Holy Mother.

And if there was, I would find it.

The End

* * *

_Author's note: And so, 21 weeks and chapters after Walter Sullivan Day, we've come to the end. It's been quite a ride._

_I have to admit, in a way I don't feel I did this story justice. When I first thought of the idea, everything was so vivid in my mind...but that was three years ago, and by the time I actually started to write it, that initial excitement had faded. On the other hand, I feel I've become a much better writer since then, so maybe this would have been the superior version either way. It was a lot of fun to write, knowing the entire time that the protagonist was utterly insane and that while he tried to figure out what was truth, the real truth was that _everything_ around him was part of a grand delusion he had built around himself. I especially enjoyed tossing in little contradictions here and there as his imaginary world slowly broke down._

_And it was very interesting to watch the reviews and see some of you start to figure it out!_

_Who knows where Silent Hill will take me from here? This was my last serious, pure Silent Hill idea, although the future will undoubtedly be filled with new inspirations. Some day, I want to write a Silent Hill crossover with Dark Shadows: that gothic horror show from the 60s that you all really, really need to watch. And for those of you who are also my patient Resident Evil fans, I'm going to begin work on the sequel to my RE story immediately! In other news, I was accepted into graduate school, so writing is going to become an even more central part of my life. And don't forget to check out Sacreya's Legacy and The Accidental Zombie if you want to read something I wrote without waiting for me to produce another fanfic. I've got a Lovecraftian horror serial coming out in July, so there's that to look forward to, as well. ;)_

_Keep up the reviews, because I love hearing from you. ^_^ And now, the time has come for me to say God bless you (though not the Order's god, please!) and farewell until my next story!_


End file.
